


Piper and Jun Write a Newspaper

by MargaretSmoke



Series: Publick Media [1]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Bisexual Character, Commonwealth Minutemen, Democracy, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Journalism, Light Romance, M/M, Minutemen, Multi, Other, Panromantic, Political Intrigue, Protests, Reluctant Friendship, Romantic Friendship, Social Justice, Truth vs. Lies, also commentary on trump probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-09-17 03:11:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9301457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MargaretSmoke/pseuds/MargaretSmoke
Summary: The Minutemen are embroiled in controversy, protests are erupting in Sanctuary, and tensions with Goodneighbor are at an all-time high.  It's all hands on deck for Piper and her new team of reporters, but when Hancock calls for a Minutemen democracy, Piper finds herself amidst whispers of a revolution.  Her duty to the Truth could tear the Minutemen apart.  [Complete]





	1. 12.1.2290 FRI - Miss Dearborn

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for your interest in this story! Please take a moment to read this introduction, as this is the only place this information will be. Additionally, please read the important Author’s Note at the end of this intro. Enjoy!
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** _Fallout 4_ is copyright its creators and copyright holders. This is a work of fanfiction.
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> Original elements of the story, including unique portions of the plot, are copyright Margaret Smoke.
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> This work is complete. Chapters will be posted Tuesdays.
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> This work is cross-posted to Wattpad, Ao3, and Tumblr.
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> This work is the first part of the _Publick Media_ series and takes place in the _Revival_ universe. Readers do not need familiarity with _Revival _to read this fic.__
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> **\- Spoilers/Timeline -**  
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> _The Sole Survivor is involved with all major factions, but no faction has been favored or made into an enemy; spoilers for expansions and add-ons in terms of new Companions, NPC factions known, and build-mode items available; spoilers for basics of Survival Mode; MAJOR Companion story spoilers for max affinity levels._  
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> **\- Content Warning (Entire Story) -**  
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> _• Language: Use of slang considered inappropriate for children. Use of threats. Use of Fallout-esque slurs._  
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> _• Violence: Use of threats, verbal and physical. Presence of weaponry and threats to use weapons. Themes and depictions of atypical forms of violence (hate speech, systemic oppression, etc.)_  
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> _• Gore: No depictions of gore. Brief but mild imagery of a meatbag (super mutant container)._  
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> _• Other: Discussions and depictions of alcohol, drugs, and tobacco products. A character's illness manifests as pain, but no gore._  
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> _• Sexual Content: No graphic depictions of sex. Characters discuss sexual attractions and encounters._  
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> **\- Author’s Note -**  
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> _You will encounter an intentional typo early in this chapter._  
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Piper and Jun Write a Newspaper

by Margaret Smoke

* * *

 

**County Crossing Defeats Raiders**

 

Minutemen repelled raiders from County Crossing last Friday, after the raiders, thought to be based nearby, attacked at approximately 1:59 AM. The raiding party numbered seven raiders total, two armed with highly modified missle launchers reported stolen from Diamond City earlier this week. Witnesses claim the raiders appeared to have no motive other than destruction.

Thanks in part to local defenses and guards trained by Minutemen leaders, County Crossing kept the raiders from infiltrating the farm and destroying much more than a water pump. Once Minutemen reinforcements arrived, the raiders were felled within minutes.

“I don’t know what we’d do without the patrols,” said Anne Wilson, a local merchant in County Crossing. “These souls brave the Commonwealth and give up settling in one place just to keep us all safe.”

When asked if the Minutemen General made an appearance, Wilson replied, “Not this time, but we never expect her to show up personally for every problem our settlements face. She does her best to visit whenever possible, and often drops off supplies or blueprints and materials for better structures or defenses. The patrols do fine work, and if she trusts them, I trust them.”

Settlers in County Crossing thanked the patrols and the protected supply lines for the rapid repair of the broken water pump. “We’ve already flushed the pipe and are getting fresh water again,” said Byron Jones, captain of the guard in County Crossing. “We’ve made certain to return the stolen weapons to Diamond City too.”

The weapons were returned safely, according to a spokesperson for Diamond City Security, so there is no need for caravans to be on heightened alert. “Make certain that any criminals who catch word of this know that the weapons have been returned to their rightful owner, and that security here in Diamond City has been re-evaluated and strengthened to avoid future thefts.” 

* * *

“Hmm.”

Piper Wright leaned back in the sofa and tapped her pen on her chin. She hemmed harder, then squinted at the piece, giving it another re-read. Murmuring the article’s title, she sat forward, invading the personal space of the author whose work she scrutinized. The lobby at Publick Occurrences’ Sanctuary satellite office was _cozy_. That was the way Piper spun it, anyway.

“Jun?” Piper leaned to her side, showing Jun the work. He held one side of the page and scanned it with his somber eyes, then pointed to something. Piper gave a brief nod, used her free hand as a writing surface, and circled that something. It made the author across from her squirm a little, but that was part of the act.

Joanna Dearborn looked a lot like a pencil, thin and angular, with a pointy nose. Her light white cheeks were rouged with an eraser-pink blush, giving her a youthful look. She even dressed in a yellow so bright, Piper wondered if she’d ever stepped foot outside a settlement before. She obviously had, because Piper would’ve noticed someone so prim and bright walking around Sanctuary Hills.

“Pardon me,” said Dearborn, “but is everything all right with my article?”

Piper put on a show and hemmed again. She lowered the article into her and Jun’s laps and said, “Miss Dearborn, where’s your byline?”

“My byline?”

“The thing that attributes your work to _you_?”

“Oh, did I forget that?” If she were blushing, it was hard to tell. “I am so sorry. I will correct that right away.”

“You might want to correct your spelling of ‘missile’ too,” Piper added. “And by the way, don’t you mean Anne _Wallace_? Or does CoCross have another Anne doing business?”

“I didn’t have Wallace?” Miss Dearborn leaned across the very small gap, never breaking etiquette, and looked at the circle Piper pointed to. “Oh my, forgive me. You are correct. That should read as Anne Wallace. I don’t know where Wilson came fr—”

“And there’s also a clear skew, here,” Piper said. “ ‘Thanks in part to local defenses and guards trained by Minutemen leaders.’  Look, we’re all thankful to the Minutemen, _believe me_ , I get it, but the paper doesn’t go out to just Minutemen settlements. We’re based in Diamond City, and we have readers in Goodneighbor and Vault 81. The other day? Jun got a letter from _Far Harbor_. Ever heard of it?”

“Well, no, I haven’t…”

Piper held up a hand. “Hang on.” Miss Dearborn was clearly flustered, and her pencil-shaving-colored hair had started to come out of its perfect updo, which she appeared further embarrassed by. Piper pulled out a box of gum drops from her pocket and offered them with a musical shake. “Want one?”

Miss Dearborn reluctantly nodded, and politely cupped her hands. Piper poured in more than she would give Hancock or Deacon during one of their water-cooler smoke breaks. Miss Dearborn gave a small nod and daintily popped a red drop into her mouth. Piper was a little more crude and casual about handling her food, but better than MacCready on a good day. At least she closed her mouth and tried not to chew too loudly.

“Listen, Miss Dearborn. Your article was actually really good, but things are going to get rough out there. We need to be very tough here at the editing stage, to make sure we can put out the best paper we can put out. Your writing is strong, but you come off as really fragile, and not because of how proper you’re being. To get the best story, you might have to go a little harder and dig a little deeper than you’re comfortable with.”

Miss Dearborn covered her mouth as she chewed, and nodded.

“I’m not saying to cut out your personality completely. In fact, people might be willing to share with someone like you a little more than they would someone like me. I’ve got a… _friend_ who occasionally calls me a bloodbug. But I need to know that what you’re giving me is your very best, and that you can take a little editorial criticism.”

Upon swallowing, Miss Dearborn took a moment to quietly suck on her teeth, then said, “Yes, of course, Miss Wright. I am so just so utterly embarrassed at having made such obvious mistakes during this interview.”

“Oh, you’re in,” said Piper, much to Miss Dearborn’s surprise. “Didn’t you catch what I wrote at the top of your article?” Piper turned the paper so that it faced Miss Dearborn once more. She tapped her pen over the part where she’d written “Hire? Yes/No.” “Yes” had been circled once in pencil, and again in the ink of a pen.

“I…I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Miss Wright, Mr. Long!”

“Honestly, I haven’t seen something this plain and to the point in a long time. It reminds me of the old Bugles,” said Piper. “Jun?”

Jun nodded, his normally messy black hair combed nicely for the interview. Piper had left her slightly curving tendrils alone: no need to put on a face other than her reporter face for a new employee.

Jun reclaimed the article, and re-read it quickly. “I know what happened. I know all the parties involved. I know how the people are feeling afterward. I know if justice has been delivered and how. You also left out the little details, which can take up vital printing space. It really is a wonderful sample. I hope we consider it for our next edition.”

Miss Dearborn perked up. Jun’s tone and positive attention to her work must have warmed her. This was probably why Jun got mostly good letters from readers, and Piper got threats of poison. As if that hadn’t already happened to her.

“Pay is a little tough,” said Piper. “We’re trying not to do what the Bugle did with new writers, which was pay per word, because we have the final say in how many words you get into the paper. _Buuuuuut_ , we’re also not into letting people work for exposure either, because that’s a huge crock of bullshit—and maybe a good story, hmm—so we can do a flat rate for now, by the day, okay? You have a place here yet?”

Miss Dearborn shook her head.

“We’ll get you set up somewhere temporary. Just show up at 9 AM and be ready to work.”

“How will I get the news from here?” said Miss Dearborn, her most important question of the interview.

“You won’t. Well, not stuff from CoCross anyway. I need you to cover here and Abernathy, and you’ll need training on our presses too. Make sure to check in with me, your editor, before pursuing anything outside of that circuit, okay? Not because I want to stifle the news, but because I don’t want the Commonwealth taking a good writer away. It’s a miracle you made it here with that pocket knife. So I’d rather we have a plan of action when it comes to something hotter than the usual story. But first, we need to get you acclimated to working here.” Piper stood. “The two of you should work on fitting that article into tomorrow’s edition.”

Jun stood in unity with Miss Dearborn, and nodded to the print room that shared the first floor of the building. One of Sturges’ wonders lay within, along with a nice, fine layer of black dust. Miss Dearborn flattened her clothing and quickly fixed her hair by pulling it out of her updo.

“Um, you may want to pull that back so you don’t lose a chunk of it in the press,” advised Piper. “It’s a bit of a monster.” An amazing, print-tastic monster.

“Oh, yes,” said Miss Dearborn. She put it up in a sloppy, but practical ponytail. “Is this okay?”

“Yes, much better. I’d change too, if you want to keep the ink off those nice clothes.”

“Yes, of course.” Miss Dearborn glanced about the sofas and spotted her suitcase. “Where can I…?”

“Right this way, Miss Dearborn,” said Jun, ushering her toward the small bathroom. “I’ll meet you in the print room, which is that door there. We’ll use the terminal in there to make those corrections for now.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Miss Dearborn entered the Vault-Tec furnished bathroom and shut the door. Piper and Jun shared a look and a fond smile. She’d always wanted to run a proper paper; hiring Miss Dearborn brought her closer to that dream. And to think, Piper had almost ignored Marcy’s passive-aggressive pleas to read Jun’s works nearly a year ago. Piper had written them off as a coping mechanism, never considering Jun a person of journalistic talent. Now, Jun was her top reporter/assistant/copyeditor/printer, and Marcy occasionally helped with deliveries to the Provisioner relay lines. They were happier at _Publick Occurrences_ , and Piper…well, she was happy too.

“This’ll be good for us,” said Piper. “More content could bring in more readers, more caps…”

“We could fund distribution to Kingsport,” said Jun.

“Or go beyond Egret.”

“Get to Far Harbor on purpose instead of by chance.”

“Pay Sturges to build a photo lab.”

They shared another smile.

Piper rubbed her fingers together, failing to remove pen ink from her peach skin. It smudged instead, leaving traces of blue on her thumb. “Well, I’m going to get a little more work done, then grab us all some lunch,” she said.

“Doing any fishing today?”

Piper smirked. “You know it.”


	2. 12.1.2290 FRI - Goodneighbors

12.1.2290 FRI - Goodneighbors

* * *

The Sole Survivor  
The Biography of the Minutemen’s Most Influential General  
[Working Title]

INTRODUCTION [Change time instances to reflect date of publication. Try and talk to Blue about calling us Companions before publishing—makes us sound too dependent on her and the word can create ambiguity anyway.]

The Commonwealth, YEAR. It’s been [blank] years since the Sole Survivor woke up alone in Vault 111 and became General of the Minutemen. Under her direction, settlements in the Commonwealth grew, each bearing the Minuteman flag, and the prosperity of their citizens rose despite the raids and the looming threat of the Institute. Through delicate diplomacy and crafty dealings, General Nora* managed to ingratiate herself with the region’s major factions, and has formed a small council known as the Companions. Maintaining peace between the factions has been a tricky task, and will soon come to an end, now that Nora has found her son…

Sanctuary Hills, Nora’s pre-war home and current headquarters, rivals Diamond City for the coveted title of “Jewel of the Commonwealth.” With overflowing coffers, generous stores of food, and a relay network of provisioners hauling supplies between settlements, Sanctuary is a beacon of hope away from the ruins of Boston. Refurbished with Vault-Tec technology and guarded by towering concrete walls, Sanctuary is in the running for becoming the capital of a new nation.

[Needs conclusion or segue into something. Maybe this intro goes into Blue’s first interview with me? Or should that come later?]

[*Ask Blue if she’s settled on a new surname before publishing, unless she’s decided to stick to just Nora.]

* * *

Piper stared at the terminal. Just over a month ago, a raid led by super mutants introduced a mini-nuke to the ramparts her Sanctuary office sat beside, and the force of the blast had broken a few things, including her terminal. She’d nearly lost this file, but between Sturges and Nick Valentine, the terminal had been repaired and every file recovered. She treasured Blue’s biography and all related notes the most, but she’d barely added a word to any of it since the repairs. The most she did today was insert punctuation her fingers had forgotten to type, and gaze at an awkward sentence. Yesterday, she’d finished transcribing the electronic notes onto physical paper. A good plan, given the fragility of electronics and Piper’s complex relationship with protective walls, but she’d hoped for some inspiration to come out of it. Nothing manifested.

And now the small fraction of time she had to work on this was gone. It was time to feed the crew.

Sanctuary Hills was one of the nicest places Piper had been. It wasn’t as clean as a Vault, but it looked a lot more like the neighborhoods of yore, those illustrated in the comics…if you didn’t count the massive walls lined with guards, biometric turrets, and spotlights. Piper still wrestled with her under-described, more approachable version of Sanctuary’s defenses; it was hard to paint that aspect of Blue’s portrait without making her sound vicious, paranoid, or greedy. Those walls could be pretty scary, but Piper knew Blue hoped for a wall-free future, and that everything within those walls represented a giving caretaker, a person doing her best to provide means and opportunity to everyone.

Blue had done one hell of a job with this place. The literal unearthing of Vault-Tec blueprints and manuals had been a boon. Countertops were sturdier, easier to clean. Toilets were toilets, not seats for latrines. The clinic even had a working shower, and its baths didn’t need filling from buckets that caught water from a hand-pump. That was Sturges’ current pet project, or perhaps his orders from Blue: running water. If they were going to get water running through Sanctuary Hills again, the first stop would undeniably be Doctor Grant’s clinic.

The months of unearthing pipes, testing pipes, and ultimately cleaning and repairing pipes, had been a messy, smelly span of months. All for one building that existed on the former foundation of a home. It would be years, Sturges thought, before the whole town was hooked up again, given that some buildings did not lie on old foundations and therefore no old pipes were available for repair or scavenging purposes.

The local watering hole, the oddly named Barname, was not one of those buildings, and had made a good case for being next in line for proper water hook ups. The proposal was greatly opposed by many citizens, mostly those who didn’t understand or care about microbes in their food. The main opponent, though, as Jun’s latest article had revealed, was Cole Penny. Cole already hated living next door to the Goodneighbor Embassy, and ever since John Hancock, mayor and ambassador of Goodneighbor, offered to house Barname during the renovations, Penny took it upon himself to rally up a small pack of his neighbors to protest the project. Piper had worried about the Longs’ safety since then. Penny was physically harmless, but those who sided with him could hold their own in a raid.

But Jun and Marcy had thus far been safe. Probably because Jun had a knack for objectivity and a reputation for his insightful, human-interest pieces. Or probably because Marcy and Penny were friends. Maybe a mix of both. Maybe Penny and his group weren’t inclined to violence after all.

Piper entered Barname to the same greeting every time: a ubiquitous turning of heads, and the suspicious, quick turning back of those same heads. Only Companions ever gave her the time of day. The barkeep and servers too, since it was their job. Her reputation in Sanctuary was far better than it was in Diamond City, but folks knew better than to air their dirty laundry near a reporter.

Piper spotted Blue standing at the bar, and she spotted her too. They shared smiles. Piper gave herself a moment. General Nora had gone missing around the time of that super mutant raid, when the world’s rules with time and space went momentarily wonky and she was sucked into another world. Since her return, their relationship had changed. The world Blue had visited was on a pre-war timeline, and she seemed to miss it. Piper understood, but now they weren’t as close as they had been. Piper had thought, once…maybe…but no longer was that the case.

Piper wasn’t alone. Blue had a complex network of relationships, ones that many of Piper’s fellow Companions wanted a romantic aspect to. It caused a lot of infighting, mostly behind Blue’s back, but Piper had stayed out of it, feeling a little guilty that she was the one who’d had Blue’s attention in that arena. But the bliss of returning had been temporary; Blue had since cut herself off from everyone. Sure, she traveled here and there with a few of them, taking on various missions and tasks and fighting multitudes of bad guys, but hearts had been broken.

Blue. There she stood, at the bar, as beautiful as ever. Always as Piper imagined her, every feature perfect and unique.

Yet Blue was now so far away.

Piper ignored the flutter in her stomach and joined her. “Hey, Blue. You don’t usually come around here.”

“Sanctuary or Barname?”

“ _Please_ , Barname, of course. You could never leave this place.”

“Maybe,” said Blue. “Maybe once Sanctuary is safe and secure, overflowing with resources and happy people, I could move on and help make a change somewhere else.”

“…Right.”

“I mean to the other settlements, Piper. The only other one that comes close to matching Sanctuary’s prosperity is Starlight. The other ones are in various stages of their evolution. I’m trying to get everyone everything they need. We need to do better, get more supplies their way and more workers to put up more walls and defenses.”

“I know, but if you want more places like Covenant—”

“Covenant is a ghost town.”

“No thanks to you.”

Blue shot her an incredulous look. “Excuse me?”

“Never mind.”

“They were tormenting synths.”

“I know they were—”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“I’m not.”

“Your paper has said otherwise.”

Piper swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “Blue, what’s the matter with you? I thought you were a lawyer in your former life. You know you can’t dispense justice like that.”

“I thought you weren’t entirely sure what a real lawyer did.”

“I recently found out, because I’m curious, _hello_.”

Blue shot another look at the barkeep. “I’ll need that order delivered to my office.” She dug out a handful of caps. “For delivery.” She glared at Piper. “This place will never have a sense of justice, so we’re going to do it my way for a while, and I don’t need you interfering with that.”

“I’m not going to interfere, Blue, _jeez_. What’s going on? Is this about—”

“You couldn’t possibly know. I’m leaving.”

“Blue—”

“I’m not a Vault Dweller. Don’t call me Blue. I’m the General and that’s how I expect you to address me.”

Aghast, Piper watched Blue leave in a gale, and the torch Piper carried for her flickered.

“Piper?”

It was the barkeep, BT. He had permanently roughened hands and one hell of a palate. Someone must’ve just asked him for the umpteenth time if his initials stood for “bartender,” given the silliness of the bar’s name, because right now, his demeanor looked a lot like Piper’s heart.

“Yeah, BT?”

“You ordering anything?”

“Um…yeah, the usual, plus an extra order…and…could you deliver that today?”

BT crossed his arms, displaying the culinary tattoos in his brown skin. “Why does everyone think we do deliveries?”

“Just today, please, I…”

“Why bother having a place for people to come to if I’m running all over town?”

A person of pale peach complexion slipped into Blue’s former spot. “I got it, darlin’,” Cait said to Piper. The ends of her red hair had been squared by a recent trim. “You go take a breather, preferably one with a lot of tobacco. Spotted your buddies outside. Might wanna head out before ya miss ’em.”

Piper swallowed again. “Yeah. Thanks Cait. I owe you.”

“Nah.”

Piper headed out to the hedge beside the bar, the official smoke-break spot of her not-so-favorite Johns. Piper wondered if Hancock knew he shared a name with Deacon, or if Deacon ever found out how Piper had uncovered that smidgeon of history.

And there the Johns were, of course, smoking out of earshot of the nearest doors and windows, protected by the hedge and wall of the bar. Hancock, like Piper, wore his signature look: the red frock coat of his museum-interpreted namesake, and the dark tricorn hat that shaded his pinkish, radiation-wrinkled face. Deacon wore his Sanctuary-Only traditional garb, a teeshirt and jeans outfit, accompanied by a black leather jacket to guard against the day’s chill. He even had a green woolen hat pulled over his bald, peach head today, and donned his usual sunglasses.

Deacon stepped directly in front of Piper as she walked toward them. She eyed him with confusion, momentarily forgetting her heartache. As she drew nearer, he continued to sidestep; Piper realized that he was using her to hide from MacCready, the peach-skinned, goateed, long-coat wearing mercenary heading for the bar.

“Jeez, Deacon,” she said, accepting a proffered smoke from Hancock. “When are you gonna stop avoiding him?”

“For the rest of my life,” Deacon said.

“I thought you two were best buddies now,” Piper joked.

Hancock laughed and Deacon grimaced.

“Yeah, how about no,” said Deacon. “A resounding, triple-negative, no. A super no-va! A No with a capital N-O.” Deacon relaxed dramatically once MacCready entered. “To completely and obviously change the topic, what’s wrong with you, Piper?”

Piper took a drag so deep that it nearly drew out an ugly cough. Wow, that would be embarrassing. “Blue is what’s wrong.”

“You want my advice?” asked Hancock in his smoky voice.

“Not really.”

“You got it.”

“Err…maybe I kind of do, but that doesn’t mean I’m obligated to follow it.”

“Okay, so an observation then.” Hancock flicked the butt of his cigarette; ashes fluttered to the trampled mix of weeds and grass below. “She’s going through some shit. I don’t mean the whole deal with the portal or whatever, but some real shit. Thank this guy here for that.” He checked a thumb at Deacon.

“Could you not, maybe?” said Deacon.

“Are you kidding me?” Piper clenched her jaw and gave him a little growl. “What do they have her doing this time?”

“It’s not quite that.”

“What’s not?”

“Yeah, so I’m gonna go ahead and _not_ talk about this stuff all openly to a reporter and put lives at risk, if that’s cool with you. Even if it’s not cool with you.”

“Give her a break, D,” said Hancock.

“Uh, no?”

“Forget it.” Piper stubbed out her smoke with such fervor it bent and broke. Whatever. “This isn’t about a story, guys, but I guess if you want to look at me as a story factory instead of as a person, then fine. You’re not the first ones.” She turned on her heel, not expecting Deacon to say anything. He was kind of a jerk like that.

“Piper, wait.”

Piper didn’t, so Deacon and Hancock caught up to her.

“Not here,” said Deacon.

“I got a spot.” Hancock indicated the Goodneighbor Embassy down the avenue.

“Fine,” Piper agreed.

They walked down the avenue in silence, passing Blue’s former home, and the freshly laid sidewalk up to Publick Occurrences. Others walked beside them; only Carla, her pack brahmin, and her grumpy disposition went against the flow of pedestrian traffic. Piper exchanged glances with Hancock and Deacon; they’d noticed too. Their heads collectively turned toward the boisterous mix of shouts and claps.

“Is that coming from…?” Hancock jogged ahead. Piper and Deacon followed.

The Goodneighbor Embassy consumed one of Sanctuary’s original buildings, a one-level home near the corner of the main avenue and the exit-only access to Vault 111. Onlookers backed into the neon-lit sign on the Embassy’s lawn, herded by a mix of Minutemen and local guards.

“Hey!” shouted Hancock, as one citizen bumped a little too hard into the fragile neons. “You mind?”

The citizen gave him apologetic brows and a soft hand gesture, then jumped at the sound of a mighty roar.

“THIS NOT MILK OF HUMAN KINDNESS!”

“Oh my god…” Piper uttered. She shoved through the onlookers, eyes set in determination, only to be met by the firm hand of a Minutemen soldier, one whose name she did not know, but whose sun-damaged, peach face she vaguely recognized, and only because of the tiny scar on his jaw, which was covered with neatly trimmed black stubble. “Let me through, I’m the press.”

“No, Miss Wright,” said the man. Well, that wasn’t fair. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Of course it’s dangerous! You guys are pissing off Strong!” She stepped forward again, and the Minuteman, again, met her shoulder with that firm hand. Any harder and she’d bruise. She smacked the guy’s arm away and scowled, then stood on her tiptoes to get a better look over his shoulder.

A local soldier, wearing the official but controversially Gunner-like uniform of fatigues, beret, and combat armor, carted out a meatbag from Strong’s shack, which Hancock had graciously allowed to be built behind the Embassy.

“You guys are stealing Strong’s things?” Piper squinted at the scene. “Did the General authorize this?”

“Step back, Miss Wright.”

“I will _not_ step back,” she said, shoving him before he could shove her again. She ran for the shack, where Strong, a super mutant of immense stature and a wan green complexion, stood surrounded by aimed guns.

Strong roared again. “STUPID HUMANS!”

“Miss Wright!”

Piper took a deep breath, then drew her gun on her pursuer, who flinched. “Do. Not.” Those surrounding Strong, she knew, wouldn’t risk aiming their weapons her way, but the Minuteman who’d really enjoyed shoving his palm into her shoulder raised his laser musket in response to her 10mm pistol.

“Hey!” Hancock emerged from the gasping crowd afar, his shotgun trained on everyone in a uniform. “You guys are on Goodneighbor’s grass, and I don’t recall anyone asking permission.”

“Mayor Hancock,” said the nameless, dark-haired Minuteman. “We have orders.”

“Yeah. Orders from me.” Hancock gestured off the property with his gun. “Now scram.”

Another meatbag was removed. The soldier carting it stopped, her passage blocked by the standoff.

“Yeah, you’re gonna turn around and return that,” said Hancock. “Or explain to the General why Goodneighbor relations suddenly ain’t so good. You got it?”

The soldier ignored the threat and waited.

“Strong,” said Piper. “You okay?”

“Strong do nothing!” he said from behind her.

“You wanna confirm that?” Piper said to the Minuteman in her sights.

“This is a health violation,” said the Minuteman, just as ready to shoot her. Hell, he looked like he _wanted_ to. Where the hell did Garvey get a guy like this? “We are removing the hazard.”

“He doesn’t keep them out in the open,” said Piper. “They’re part of his culture, and he keeps them inside his _own shack_ , which, as the _Mayor of Goodneighbor and Ambassador from Goodneighbor just told you_ , is on _Goodneighbor property_.”

“No one here agreed to cede property to Goodneighbor.”

“The General ain’t a nobody,” said Hancock.

“I’m just following orders.”

“Whose orders?” demanded Piper. She stepped forward; the Minuteman tensed. _Blue’s? Please, tell me it’s not Blue._ “Who ordered you to single out a citizen of this town for their culture?”

“Super mutants have no culture.”

Strong roared again, this one a song of pain and sorrow, underscored by anger. Hancock huffed, and Piper grit her teeth. She caught the face of Cole Penny in the crowd, which had begun swinging around the corner now that this Minuteman had made a point of following her up here.

“This is an outrage,” said Piper, “and you’d better damn well believe it’s going to print.”

“How will you print it from jail?”

“ _What jail?_ ”

“The Vault.”

Piper’s eyes widened. Like the rest of the town, she’d believed the latest local trips up to Vault 111 were to acquire more of its resources, especially now that Blue had given Sturges and other workshops around the Commonwealth the means to build better habitats and utilities. But a jail? The Vault was no jail; it was a prison, a _tomb_. Yeah, Blue’s little collection of allied settlements needed a system of justice and some sort of penal code, but a whole Vault? _That_ Vault? One reliant on a terrifying elevator? Was this part of a greater plan? What was the story here? _And who will be the first sentenced to do time?_

Piper’s nostrils flared at him. “I’m not going any—”

“ _What_ is going on here?!”

Thank _goodness_. Preston Garvey emerged from the parted crowd, his tan duster swaying, his dark eyes set with focus, his deep brown skin flushed with wrath. He stepped into the middle of the standoff, effectively ending it. No loyal Minuteman would train a gun on their Lieutenant General.

“Your soldiers here say they have orders to single out a super mutant citizen and destroy his culture,” answered Piper. “And they’re stepping on sovereign land to do it.”

Garvey narrowed his eyes and pointed firmly at Strong’s shack. “Return that meatbag, _now_.”

“Sir, I’m under orders,” said the soldier.

“Not my orders. _Do it._ ”

Piper wanted to chime in. She could see Hancock wanted the same. Neither could undermine Preston at a time like this, even if they were in agreement with him. The soldier reluctantly nodded, and turned the squeaking cart around, leaving a trail of blood from the seeping meatbag behind.

“Sir, if I may,” said the nameless Minuteman. “There could be human meat in there.”

“THERE NO HUMAN MEAT! STRONG MADE PROMISE!”

Preston quieted Strong with a hand. “He’s right. Strong gets his meat the same way the rest of us do, unless you mean to tell me that someone’s selling human meat at the market.”

“No, Lieutenant General.”

“Then I need you to personally oversee the return of all Strong’s belongings to his home, then report back to HQ immediately.” Preston turned toward the circle of guns, and then to the Minutemen attempting crowd control. “You all hear that? I want all of you back at HQ, ASAP. Companions, I need you on their posts until further notice. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” said Piper, along with the others within earshot.

Those surrounding Strong cautiously lowered their weapons and continued to face him until they were out of arm’s reach. Strong flexed and growled before approaching Preston, Piper, and Hancock.

“Strong remember Little Lady. Thank Little Lady for help. Ask Clan to crush enemies.”

“I’ll fix this, Strong,” said Preston. “I can’t promise to physically crush anyone, but those involved will be punished.”

“Strong go if humans forget milk again.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” said Preston.

“I’m gonna take the post near my office,” said Piper. The scaffolding and fresh repairs made for an eyesore against the dingy concrete, but if she had to suffer for someone else’s asinine actions, she’d rather do it within yelling distance of her fellow reporters. “See you all soon.”

“Yeah, real soon,” said Hancock.

Preston nodded. Strong grunted.

Piper holstered her weapon and pressed through the dispersing crowd. She caught Marcy, who waited with her arms crossed. Piper almost didn’t recognize her with her dark hair swept up in a ponytail, nor the touch of rouge cresting her peach cheeks. “Marcy, I need you to get Jun over to the Embassy. Catch him up, do whatever you can. I don’t want to miss a beat.”

Marcy’s eyes held her typical, unwavering skepticism. “I don’t want him in danger.”

“He won’t be. It’s just interviews with any leftover witnesses, including Hancock. I need every detail down on paper, and I need Jun to follow the leads as needed. He’ll know what to do. Can you pass that along for me? Please?”

Marcy nodded. She was Jun’s biggest fan and amenable to him working on most of the stories that came his way. “As long as he won’t get hurt.” She waved to Piper and headed for the office, while Piper turned toward the ramparts where she would take her watch, _and_ take a few more glances at the commotion near Vault 111.

 


	3. 12.8.2290 FRI - Trust

12.8.2290 FRI - Trust

* * *

MINUTEMEN CONDUCT CONTROVERSIAL RAID AGAINST SANCTUARY CITIZEN

by Jun Long

Minutemen soldiers, with the aid of local Sanctuary Hills guards, conducted a raid Friday afternoon upon the home of Sanctuary Hills resident, Strong. Although Strong is considered a Sanctuary Hills resident, his home resides on the property of the Goodneighbor Embassy. The location of Strong’s home was part of a compromise made between Sanctuary and Strong to practice his culture outside of Sanctuary’s jurisdiction, but within the protection of its walls. Minutemen and Sanctuary soldiers removed several meatbags, a staple of Super Mutant culture, from Strong’s home before Lt. Gen. Preston Garvey of the Minutemen shut the operation down.

Soldiers cited the meatbags as a “health violation,” and stated that they were under orders to remove the “hazard.” Strong was kept under armed watch for the duration of the raid. When Mayor and Ambassador of Goodneighbor, John Hancock, discovered the raid in progress, he demanded the immediate removal of Sanctuary and Minutemen forces from Goodneighbor’s sovereign property, along with the immediate return of Strong’s belongings to his one-room shack.

Before Lt. Gen. Garvey arrived, a standoff had erupted between Minutemen soldier Justin Parish and _Publick Occurrences_ reporter/chief editor, Piper Wright. Wright was denied access to the scene by Parish, despite her press credentials and freedom of the press granted by the Minutemen General. Wright, also a member of the Minutemen General’s small council, the Companions, initiated the standoff upon seeing that fellow Companions member Strong had been detained while his home was searched and raided. Mayor Hancock, in his attempts to preserve the rights of Goodneighbor and those of his fellow Companion, entered the standoff moments later.

The Goodneighbor Embassy was established in Sanctuary on January 1st, 2289, by order of the Minutemen General, part of a larger effort to engender and preserve positive relationships with Commonwealth city states and factions. A small portion of Sanctuary’s land was given to Goodneighbor for use as an Embassy, and Hancock, after a peaceful vote from the people of Goodneighbor, earned the title of Ambassador. This raid is the first incident of its kind to involve the Embassy since its establishment.

Despite resolving the standoff peacefully and respecting the rights of Strong and Goodneighbor, Lt. Gen. Garvey could not be reached for further comment. The General’s office could also not be reached for comment, and neither the General nor the Minutemen have released an official statement on the matter. Witnesses of Garvey’s interference say Garvey ordered all soldiers to return to Sanctuary’s Headquarters, with implications that punishments would follow. Companions, including Wright, were ordered to take over empty posts for the duration of that day, and have continued to work those posts as of this publication.

No charges have been brought up against Wright or Hancock, nor have Strong or Hancock filed charges against the Minutemen or Sanctuary.

* * *

A heavily jacketed Jun entered the building with a crate full of dinners. He set them on the coffee table in the lobby before locking the door and turning off the outside light. Now that the public thought Publick Occurrences was closed for the day, they could start their meeting.

Piper poured two boxes of gumdrops around the sweet rolls and mutfruit on a tray, while Miss Dearborn, who’d started to become Joanna this past week, set down a second tray of coffees and Nuka-Colas. Jun sat down and passed dinners around while Piper and Joanna set up dishes between folders of notes and copy.

This was another late night in a week of caffeine-fueled late nights.

“Alright, so what do we have?” said Piper, scooping food onto her plate. “Joanna, you start.”

Although Joanna approached each meal, no matter how small, with the same attention to etiquette she displayed in her interview, she had acclimated very quickly to life at Publick Occurrences. She dressed for the job, wherever that took her, and seemed to have a great admiration for Jun, which was a good thing, because Jun was one hell of a reporter. Today, she wore a plain shirt beneath an ink stained flannel, and faded jeans that cascaded over black boots.

“We have a few language questions for your column.” Joanna flipped open her folder the moment her fingertips were hastily wiped free of sticky food. “The first comes from Diamond City, someone asking about using ‘a’ or ‘an’ before the word ‘historic.’ The next is from Somerville Place, wondering if the plural for ‘mutfruit’ is ‘mutfruit’ or ‘mutfruits.’ She put her age beside it; I’m thinking we should go with it because she’s a kid.”

“Good thinking,” said Piper, while Jun took a deep breath. “Shows our readers are young and trying to stay educated. Who sent it from Diamond City?”

“It just says Pete P.”

“Another kid. This’ll be good. Let’s publish both of them.”

“You could add a blurb about it being a young reader edition of the column,” suggested Jun, marking up his latest draft with red ink.

“That’s a plan.” Piper shoved a mass of fried noodles into her mouth and chewed. She motioned to Joanna to continue.

“Starlight’s hosting a convention on public interest and how it relates to health.”

Piper and Jun looked at each other.

Joanna pulled out a page from her folder and handed it to them. “Here’s the pamphlet.”

“Where’d you get this?” asked Jun.

“…Curie’s desk.”

Piper snickered and scanned the pamphlet before relinquishing it entirely to Jun. “So there’s gonna be a meeting about public health. Big surprise. Think it’s related at all to what happened with Strong?”

Joanna nodded. “I have a hunch, but nothing solid yet. What I do know is that people from all over are going.”

“Like?”

“People from Science! in Diamond City. Curie. Doctor Sun and a chem salesperson, Solomon from Diamond City. An invitation was extended to some proctors from the Brotherhood of Steel.”

Noodles dangled from Piper’s fork. “Are you kidding me?”

Joanna shook her head. “A doctor from Vault 81, I still have to confirm that though. Doctor Grant was invited, but declined. Same with the doctor out of Bunker Hill, and Doc Weathers’ caravan. Irma from the Memory Den in Goodneighbor is going, and possibly the chem salesperson who works out of the Rexford, though I’m still confirming that too.”

“Stay on that,” said Piper. “Speaking of Goodneighbor…Hancock sent for the Neighborhood Watch. The Embassy’s gonna be home to armed guards within the week.”

“That’s not going to be good,” said Jun.

“Nope,” said Piper. “Cole Penny’s gonna have a heart attack.”

“Cole Penny’s scheduling a protest outside the Embassy,” said Jun. “He invited Marcy, who declined.”

“When’d you find this out?”

“When I picked up dinner,” he said. He and Marcy had been meeting for a few minutes at Barname every night this week. “She said that _he_ said he asked some of the merchants from the market across the street to come.”

Joanna spoke as she chewed from behind her hand. “Maybe they’re worried about losing money.”

Piper nodded. “Makes sense. If Barname moves now, and Penny keeps making a fuss about it, maybe it’ll lose patrons, and thereby sales. They wouldn’t have to order so much, so then the merchants lose caps too.” Piper twirled more noodles. “Though I thought the bar got supplies wholesale. Maybe it’s just the little stuff, like booze and pre-war goods.” She hemmed and lifted her fork.

Jun shrugged. “So where would people go to eat? There’s too much work to be done for the whole settlement to run home and cook full meals.”

Piper stared at the gum drops, as if divining some new information from their arrangement. “Wait, do you think maybe…has anyone mentioned opening up a new bar around here?”

The others set down their utensils and mulled that over.

“Caps are driving this?” said Jun.

“Caps drive everything. It’s rarely ethics.”

“So who has the caps in this town?” said Joanna.

“Well…” Piper snatched a gumdrop. It didn’t go well with the lingering taste of noodles. “Blue. Hancock. Sanctuary. The Minutemen. Barname. Any number of merchants around town. But I’m not sure anyone would do that here. They don’t have anything to gain.”

“What about elsewhere?” said Jun, poking a fried tato. “Abernathy?”

“Doubt it, though it’s worth investigating.” Piper nodded at Joanna, who replaced her fork with a pen and jotted that down. “Even if this caps thread turns up nothing, we’ll at least be able to say we followed the m—” Someone knocked on the door. “Ugh, don’t people know we’re closed? This had better be important.”

“I’ll get it,” said Joanna.

“No, let me,” said Jun.

“Uh, someone make up their minds and—” The knocking sounded again. Piper stood before Joanna or Jun could make a move. She peered through the peephole to see a Deacon-looking merchant back through it, his hand propping him up against the door. Piper smirked to herself, slyly unlocked the door, then quickly pulled the door open causing Deacon to stumble. She uttered a laugh, despite having to catch him, and earned a dissatisfied grunt in return.

“You crushed it,” Deacon said. “Not in the ‘oh my goodness, you did _so_ well, you _crushed_ it!’ kind of way. As in you literally crushed it. Oh, people.”

“Yeah, Mr. Merchant Guy. People. We’re working.”

“I’ll come back later.”

“Err, come up to my office?”

“Sure, I’ll head around back and meet you there—”

“You want something to eat, Deacon?” Jun offered from the lobby.

Deacon sighed, muttering about a new face as he entered. He held up a hand of rejection to Jun’s offer and darted upstairs to Piper’s office.

“Who is that?” asked Joanna as Piper swiped an unopened Nuka-Cola. “That’s the Deacon? How is he a Deacon if he lies all the time?”

Sanctuary sure did love its gossip. “He’s not a deacon, and he’s no one important,” said Piper, hoping for a moment that Deacon was eavesdropping and heard that little jab. Though knowing him, he’d be pleased to spread that “nobody” myth. “Just a…friend, I guess. I’ll be back in a few. Get a few more bites in while I’m gone. Jun, I want the update on that serial fiction idea when I get back. Oh, and make sure to continue working on brevity in your drafts!”

Piper headed up the painfully cramped staircase and found Deacon hadn’t even turned on the terminal in her office. “I expected you to be halfway through an article.”

“Nah, I’m not here about that,” he said, folding his sunglasses neatly and hanging them from the collar of his shirt. He had plain eyes, ones that gave away nothing because they contained nothing of interest. Was this really the first time she’d seen him without his sunglasses? It was like looking at him naked. That was odd.

“Your face usually doesn’t come like that,” he said.

“Like what?”

“All screwed up like you just had a naughty thought.”

“Yeah, well I’m sure your face didn’t come like that either.”

“No, it didn’t.”

“Ever miss it?”

“Nope.”

“I think you’re lying.”

“Not like I can go back now.”

“Ever try?”

Deacon shifted his feet as he shifted the topic. “Anyway, _this_ is for _you_.” He held out a wrinkled hubflower attached to a short stem.

“Uh, am I supposed to eat this?”

_Oh._ His eyes _were_ expressive. “No, you’re supposed to look at it, think it’s really pretty, and futilely try to resuscitate it in a vase of water as an expression of gratitude for me having brought it to near-death in the first place.”

She blinked at it. The premise of him giving was as nonsensical as anything he did. “Wait, so you really just brought me a flower to be _nice_?”

“Yes. I thought that after all that distracting hubbub the other day, I could get you a less distracting hub _flower_ to make up for it. Get it? _Hub_?”

“Make up for…?”

Deacon remained hidden, sticking to the partial shadow cast by a stack of papers blocking the lamplight. “Look, Piper, I’m just trying to say I didn’t go out of my way to stage a standoff just to avoid telling you what’s going on with Nora.”

Piper sighed and tidied her desk, mostly to make herself a spot to sit on that didn’t involve sinking beneath Deacon’s eyeline. She leaned against her cold desk and folded her arms, realizing that Deacon was seeing _her_ without her signature hat or jacket. “So what’s going on with her?”

Deacon leaned toward the door, listening. Jun and Joanna laughed below. He took a seat beside Piper, his thigh narrowly missing the terminal. “It’s Danse.”

“Heh, great.” She rolled the dying flower on its stem, happier to see its wilting petals whirl than to hear whatever Deacon brought next. “So she’s seeing him?”

“No. That’s not it.” The stubble on Deacon’s normally clean-shaven jaw had a silvery-red sheen to it when the lamplight hit it just right. Perhaps aware of Piper’s observation of this, he scratched it in thought. Piper was surprised he could still grow anything there, but she had little knowledge of how those facial surgeries worked, so maybe all that he did was a little tug here and there. Maybe he never got surgery at all, and had one of those old theatrical makeup kits.

“What is it?”

“It’s not _that_ , okay? Why is everyone constantly up in arms about who Nora’s seeing, anyway?”

“Because she sends some mixed signals, Deacon.”

“Not to me.”

“Maybe she’s not interested.”

“I’m not interested either, for the record.”

“Err, okay?”

Deacon paused longer than someone like him would pause. Maybe it took him more time to craft the truth than it did to craft a lie. “This is not on the record.”

“No.”

“Danse is a synth.”

An immediate “What?” fell out of her mouth. Nothing about that made sense, and maybe Deacon was lying after all. Danse, hater of synths, being a synth? Some kind of cruel joke made by the universe? What would he think without all that Brotherhood indoctrination?

Deacon’s fingers curled under the lip of her desk, and he stared at the ground. He was not lying.

“I’ve been friends with her for as long as you have, or known her, I guess is the better word for it. She started falling for Danse. It was plain to see she was falling for a lot of you, actually, but Danse, I think, reminded her of Nate.”

An oppressive sickness clamped tight around Piper’s chest and infiltrated her stomach. “How do you know? Did he tell her?”

“He doesn’t know.”

“Wait…”

“I know because of what I do. He’s familiar to me, but I’m not familiar to him.”

“I thought he came from the Capital Wasteland?”

Deacon said nothing.

“Wait, you worked there too?”

“You know I can’t tell you everything I know, Piper.”

“So tell me what you can tell me. _Jeez_ , Deacon. I…I need to know.”

“It’s not going to cure the way you feel.”

“No.” She set the flower atop a neighboring filing cabinet.

“Before she went away to Wonderland, we might’ve had a talk about it.” Now he _sort of_ looked in Piper’s direction. “Because the current generation of synths, the ones that are out now, they kind of have some borrowed DNA.”

“From who?”

“From her son.”

Piper grimaced, and the taste of bile burned her throat. “Is it enough to…you know.”

“We don’t know, but I was worried about her, given how she was starting to feel about Danse, and to some degree, Curie.”

Piper huffed. “Curie, huh?” The scientist was heading for Piper’s personal s-list, though perhaps it wasn’t entirely her fault that bigots had latched onto her public health goals and twisted them to suit their own agendas.

“Is that the important part?”

“No, I guess not.” Piper took a deep breath, attempting to calm her nerves, which shook her hands in tiny quakes. Deacon had taken to massaging his palms. Perhaps he trembled too. Strange, to see him laid bare like this. “Hancock knows this too?”

“Hancock knows because she told him. Not because I did.”

“She told him you said that to her?”

“She believes me, but she fought with me at first. That’s what drove her away…how she stumbled on that portal. Anyway, enough about me. Hancock knows only because if and when shit goes down, she wants Danse to have somewhere safe to go. She doubts he’d go through the…uh…usual procedure, but it’s only a matter of time before the Brotherhood finds out.”

“Danse is a synth…”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t want to feel bad for him, but I kind of do. I _really_ do. Oh my god, _Danse_ …”

“He’s a prick, no doubt, but we can’t let him die because of who he is. We have to protect him, Piper. That’s what Nora’s struggling with.”

“That, and worrying about the implications of her feelings for him.”

“Well, yeah, that too. And don’t forget, if it’s enough DNA for…that, then she’s a grandmother hundreds of times over. Imagine fighting to destroy your own grandchildren. Or liberate them. Having to pick and choose between the good and the bad? It can’t be easy.”

There it was again, that bile. Piper couldn’t fathom wanting to kill Nat. Even if Nat joined the Gunners and held her at gunpoint, Piper would love her long after Gunner Nat pulled the trigger. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“In the metaphorical way, or in the ‘ask Deacon to hold your hair’ way?”

“Maybe both.” She sighed, more to give her nerves a different movement to focus on. “Do you think she’s going to choose…them?”

Deacon pressed his thumb deep into his palm now. “I don’t know. I used to think I did.”

“You decided to tell me because you want my help convincing her not to do that.”

“I wouldn’t turn that down.”

“For the greater good, huh? Well luckily for you, I was already trying to do that.”

“I wasn’t manipulating you into helping me,” Deacon said. “Sorry if it came off that way.”

She sighed through her nose, staring at his hands. “You’re going to bruise yourself if you keep doing that.” She held out her hand.

He took it, and his hand slowly relaxed in hers. “You should consider starting a business.”

“I have a business.”

“Another one. You could offer to chill beers and colas with these hands. You’d be buried in caps.”

A smile peered through her sadness and she gave his hand a gentle, yet scolding squeeze. “Guess I can’t have you as a business partner. You’re a little too warm for the work.”

“I’ll just warm the coffees. We’ll have the whole beverage market cornered. Caps aplenty. Plus all the caps we make off the bottles themselves. See where I’m going?”

“Sneaky,” said Piper. “I like it.”

He laughed a little, then allowed a silence to settle in. Jun and Joanna interrupted it with more muffled laughter. “I can trust you with this, right?”

“Yes.” She laughed. “Though I kind of feel like this is the only truthful thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He shrugged. “Actions speak louder than words, and so on.” He let go of her hand and slid off the desk. “Don’t mention this to Hancock, or Nora. We all know now, and we don’t need to talk about it.”

“Right.”

“I’ll let you get back to your meeting-slash-dinner. Mind if I have that?”

“Have what?”

“The Nuka-Cola.”

Piper had completely forgotten about that. She picked it up and handed it to him.

“For the road. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. See ya.”

 

 


	4. 12.11.2290 MON - Of the People

12.11.2290 MON - Of the People

* * *

 

The line to Trashcan Carla had since formed into a semi-circle of ravenous hands and entitled shouts.

“I’m all outta flat crap, you bloatflies!” Carla growled. “Hey, watch it!”

“Alright, that’s enough,” said Hancock, stepping into the fray. The sign-lusting crowd refused to part, and Hancock, not often ignored, muttered a _tch_ and rejoined Piper at the freshly weeded curb. “Maybe we should pull a gun on ’em.”

“Yeah, if we could maybe not resort to pulling a gun on every person that pisses us off, that’d be good.” Piper puffed her hair out of her face. “Said the reporter who literally did that earlier this month.”

“To the ghoul who brought in guns to keep this shit from happening.”

“You wanted to stop the protest?”

“Nah, protest is good. I wanted to stop people from tramplin’ on our rights. Remind ’em that Goodneighbor is a good neighbor if they don’t go stealin’ shit from people we’re protecting.”

“This is out of hand.” Piper sighed and jotted down some more notes. How would she describe a wild mob of people hellbent on making signs, but do it without mocking the process, all while staying truthful to the way they did it? At least they weren’t gathering up arms, but now Carla would probably stay away from Sanctuary for a bit, and then their local junk dealer would be out of supplies too. Actually, that’s what had started this whole mess. “Think they’ll start tearing up walls for scraps?”

“For a sign? Nah, they’ll just paint shit on the street in front of the Embassy.”

“Great.”

“Maybe we oughta let them have their say,” Hancock said with a shrug. “Protests are this kind of magical pre-war thing, so let ’em live in that fantasy for a while. Who knows, maybe it ain’t such a fanciful idea after all. Maybe somethin’ll come of it.”

“But will something come from you?”

“Nah, not from me. Hell, what are they even protesting again?”

“They don’t want to eat food so close to meatbags.”

“So they can cook their own damn food.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. They’ve gotten used to this.”

Hancock took off his hat and swept a hand over his bald head. Maybe it was a habit, from a time when he had hair, if that’s how he’d kept it. Or maybe he just had an itch. “Are _you_ used to it?”

“What? Having people cook for me?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe a little.”

“You wanna keep that going? Let this ghoul make you some dinner tonight?”

“You’re gonna give me an interview?”

“No, I’m gonna make you dinner.”

“Oh.” Piper ran through what that would entail. Going to his place. Sitting down. Watching him cook? Helping him cook? Arriving after everything was cooked and sitting down and letting him serve her? Would he eat with her? What would they talk about?

“ _Oh_ …”

He meant…

“You feelin’ what I’m sayin’, Pipes?”

“I’m feeling like I’m still sad about Blue, and maybe it wouldn’t be smart to…you know.”

“Yeah, I get it. Thought maybe it’d cheer you up.”

“Oh. _That’s_ what you meant.”

“Yeah. Wasn’t asking you out or anything.”

“Right. Heh. That’d be silly, I mean, _me_ , a reporter, _you_ , a mayor, conflict of interest, we don’t even really like each other, yeah, _super_ weird.” She fiddled with her pen. “I mean, let’s be honest, I know you don’t mind the weird, maybe you prefer it, but yeah, _totally_ , I totally knew what you meant. _Nooooooo_ big deal.”

Hancock chuckled. “You’re really funny when you’re flustered, Pipes.”

“A regular comedian,” she said. The crowd began to disperse. “Looks like everyone’s got what they need. Maybe this protest can properly start?”

“Should I head back with ’em?”

“I don’t think they even see you here.”

“Maybe that says something about protesting pointless shit.”

“And what _should_ they be protesting, Mr. Mayor?”

Hancock lit up a cigarette. “The Minutemen’s invasion of a sovereign city? The fact that a prison’s being built under their noses or lack thereof? That there ain’t a proper democracy in Minutemen settlements?”

“Yeah?” Piper made some shorthand marks in her notes. “How do you know no one’s protesting that? That no one’s putting on a counter protest?”

“Guess I don’t.”

“Who would you like to see run for office in a Minutemen democracy?”

“Shit if I know. Ain’t my place to say.”

“Do you believe Blue—General Nora—would be a good pick?”

Hancock inhaled deeply, slowly, and exhaled the same way. It was enough to let the passersby get out of earshot. “You lookin’ for a quote, Pipes?”

She shrugged her brows and shoulders. “Maybe, but I think you might be onto something here, Hancock.”

He gave her the rest of his cigarette. “You know, Pipes, I think you’re right.” He tipped his hat to her and followed the crowd.

* * *

**GOODNEIGHBOR MAYOR HANCOCK CALLS FOR MINUTEMEN DEMOCRACY**

by Piper Wright

In a shocking move Monday afternoon, Goodneighbor Mayor and Ambassador John Hancock denounced the military structure of the Minutemen government, and called for the Minutemen and citizens of their protected settlements to consider democratic methods of leadership. The announcement was made from the rooftop of the Goodneighbor Embassy in Sanctuary Hills, amidst protests led by Sanctuary citizen, Cole Penny.

The protests are part of a chain reaction of events, starting with Hancock’s offer to Barname, the only bar and restaurant in Sanctuary Hills, to operate out of the Embassy while Barname’s current building undergoes renovations to receive running water. Cole Penny, a neighbor of the Embassy, believes hosting Barname at the Embassy will lead to an increase in localized noise and disruptive activity. Soon after Hancock’s proposal and Penny’s public objection, Minutemen conducted a controversial raid against Strong, a citizen of Sanctuary who happens to live on Embassy land. Meatbags were forcibly removed from Strong’s home during the raid, after Minutemen unofficially declared them to be a health hazard. Mayor Hancock had called this an invasion of Goodneighbor’s sovereign land, and, although Strong’s property was returned, the political relationship between Goodneighbor and the Minutemen has since tensed. Armed members of the Neighborhood Watch, Goodneighbor’s law enforcement and military force, arrived early Sunday to protect the Embassy, the day before the protest and Mayor Hancock’s announcement.

Scientists of Minutemen General Nora’s small council, as well as a local Sanctuary doctor, have both supported the effort to provide running water to citizens, citing a significant reduction in health risks and an overall rise in prosperity. Sanctuary’s medical clinic was the first to receive running water, and the results of the hookup as it relates to public health are currently being analyzed by experts. No comment has been made regarding the relationship between meatbags and public health.

After Mayor Hancock made his announcement, many protestors set down their signs and engaged in dialogue with both the Mayor and each other regarding a shift in governmental structure. Cole Penny and his core supporters continued to protest the proposed move of Barname to the Embassy. Although talks have since begun between citizens and Hancock, helping to repair some of the relations between Goodneighbor and Sanctuary, no official statements have been made by Minutemen leadership. Citizens who engaged in the dialogue with Mayor Hancock loosely discussed holding a public meeting Thursday night in Barname, in an effort to peacefully organize and draft documents concerning a governmental restructure. No one has stepped forward to organize the talks.

 


	5. 12.18.2290 MON - Exclusive

12.18.2290 MON - Exclusive

* * *

Piper pulled her cap down farther as rain pelted her back. She approached the renovated yellow house where Sanctuary’s founders lived. Sturges’ outdoor workshop was closed to the public now, but he was still beneath the carport, fidgeting with an old Nuka-Cola machine. Goggles flattened his normally fluffy, black pompadour, but he had the usual grease slapdashed on his hands and overalls.

“Hey, Piper,” Sturges called out in his musical accent. “Looking for Jun?”

“Yeah.” She examined the Nuka-Cola machine. Aside from the greasy fingerprints, it was looking pretty good. Most of the rust had been removed and the problem spots covered. “How’s your project?”

“Pretty good,” he said. “Just needed a little love.” He scratched his arms, leaving trails of grease on his peach complexion. “Been reading your paper. You folks at PO deserve an award or something.”

“Thanks, Sturges, but that’s not why we do what we do.”

“Yeah, but you’re working magic there. And hey, I gotta say, I never thought I’d see Jun happy again. Marcy’s been a lot better too, feeling part of something. Said she’s been working on a novel. You know, I haven’t seen this much of them since Quincy. So thank you. You helped my friends find themselves again.”

Piper blushed and let out a small laugh. “I…um… _wow_. Yeah, that’s good to hear. The Longs are great people.”

“Don’t I know it.” Sturges stood and wiped his hands on his knees. “Anyway, Jun’s not here. He’s over at Rose’s.”

Piper uttered an unintelligible syllable of confusion. “At Rose’s?”

“Yup. Don’t ask me what he’s up to, but I figured it was a story.”

She nodded and gave him a short wave. “Thanks, Sturges. See you around.”

He bid her farewell.

Piper exited the carport into the curtains of cold rain. The few citizens outside wrapped themselves tightly in their coats, or clutched broken umbrellas close to their heads. Piper thought of the last time it rained this hard, when she was stuck with Danse and that otherworldly stranger in a safe zone that’d been compromised by ferals. She shuddered, but spotted Jun, unshielded from the rain, clasping a bundle of unknown items to his chest.

“Jun!” she called out to him, and was surprised he heard her the first time through the rain’s din. He gave a slight nod to their office, and the two veered their paths, crossing the slippery road, and met at the front door, where an overhang failed to do its job properly and dripped heavy droplets on their heads.

“Is that combat armor?” She reached for his bundle and relieved him of a piece. “Goodness, it is. Jun, where are you going?”

“Inside, please?”

“Uh, yeah.”

They stepped inside and theatrically wiped their shoes on the water-logged rug. Rain had decided to come in beneath the door again. Piper groaned and hung up her coat and hat in the cramped lobby. “Joanna, you here?”

“Yes,” she shouted from upstairs.

“We’re here too, if you need us.”

“Okay.”

Piper cleared her throat, demanding an explanation while Jun laid out pieces of combat armor on the coffee table. Feet squeaking, she headed to his side and loomed. “Tell me this is for a story.”

“It’s for a story.”

“I told Marcy I wouldn’t let you get involved with anything really dangerous.”

“Marcy knows. She understands.”

“Okay, but _I_ don’t understand. What could you possibly need with armor? Where do you plan on going that you’ll need it?”

“Tenpines.”

Piper plopped onto a sofa while Jun attempted to dry the hard armor with his soaked tee. “Oh my god…”

“I wasn’t going to go alone,” he said. “I just hadn’t seen you earlier.”

Piper ran a hand through her hair, getting the annoyingly wet strands out of her face. “Okay, that’s a _little_ better, but you still haven’t told me what’s up there in Tenpines.”

Jun looked up from the armor with the devil in his eyes. “Revolutionaries.”

“Whoa, hang on there a second. Are we talking in the Mayor Hancock way? The original Minutemen way? Or something else?”

“Let me show you.” Jun set down the armor and jogged upstairs. Murmured greetings were exchanged between he and Joanna before he reappeared with a folder that he handed off to Piper. “This letter was sent to me today.”

“Here or at home?”

“Home.”

She dried her fingertips on a cushion and pulled out the letter. “Through a provisioner?”

“Yes.”

“It’s dated today.”

“Yes.”

 

_December 18, 2090_

_Dear Mr. Jun Long,_

_My wife and I love your stories. You are our favorite reporter. We are writing to you now because our settlement has been neglected by the Minutemen for a long time, and we were one of the first to rejoin the fold, if you remember. While our calls for defense have always been answered, we do not receive the same treatment as Sanctuary or Starlight. Other settlements have been receiving necessary upgrades to their defenses and buildings, while we still live in shacks made of rusted metal and rotting wood._

_We recently learned that Preston Garvey traded a percentage of crop surplus to the Brotherhood of Steel in exchange for vital technology that helped ensure the continued safety of Minutemen settlements. As a result, our food merchants have had less to sell to us, and our crops are just enough to keep us fed. We have little stored away in case of emergency._

_We have outlined our concerns in three letters sent to Sanctuary in the past month, but have thus far received no reply. We do not even know if those letters were received. We reached out to our neighboring settlement, Outpost Zimonja, only to find that they are in a similar predicament._

_Mr. Long, I am writing to you because we have been inspired by Mayor Hancock’s words. We wish we could’ve been there to hear them for ourselves, but nonetheless, we were inspired. We are planning a revolution here. Though we do not anticipate an exchange of bullets, we are concerned about recent events regarding the raiding of a citizen’s home. We have had the pleasure of meeting Strong once before. He and the General repelled Gunners from our little cliffside settlement a little over a year ago. We were a little afraid of him, at first, but Strong genuinely believed in the “milk of human kindness,” and has helped shift some our views. We were grateful for his perspective, despite the short moment we had with him. When news of the raid upon his home hit here, we were appalled. How could the Minutemen so willingly do this thing? Was this really being done in the name of public health? How come public health is conveniently ignored when it comes to Tenpines? Zimonja?_

_Representatives from each settlement are to meet and discuss new methods of governance. If the Minutemen would like to be involved, then they must stand beside us in this change, not before us. This is the next step in returning the Commonwealth to its former glory. We must be for the People, by the People._

_Please join us while we convene. We have scheduled a week for the discussions, and will be beginning tomorrow starting at noon. I apologize for the short notice; we mistakenly held out hope that the Minutemen would hear us out before our conference began. We believe in the work done at the paper and we know that the paper will give us our voice._

_Sincerely,_

_Samira Amer_

 

Piper gaped at the letter with a smile. “Are you serious? Jun, _ARE YOU SERIOUS?_ Did this story _really_ just fall into your lap?”

Jun nodded, beaming. “It seems so. I don’t think it’s any kind of setup, either.”

“Oh my god…” Piper headed for the stairs and stopped at the first step. “We need to get there like, yesterday.” She ran upstairs. “Joanna, we’re gonna need you to cover things here for a while. Don’t worry about printing anything alone. Just keep the place locked up while your here _and_ while you’re not.”

Joanna rolled out of her shared office on a chair. “What? Why? Where are you going?”

“A big story, Joanna. Behemoth-sized.” Piper burst into her own office and packed some extra ammo, then raided her stash of candy. She came out to find Joanna blinking at her from her chair. “Jun’s the one they want, and I don’t blame them, but he needs some muscle, and—Oh, can you hold this?” Piper thrust her messenger bag at Joanna, who took it without complaint. She ran to her bedroom and rifled through her dresser. She changed clothes, sporting a dark getup reinforced with ballistic weave that Blue had offered to every Companion who’d wanted it, then returned to the hall where Joanna waited patiently with the supplies. “Anyway, I’m the muscle.” Piper rifled through the bag on Joanna’s lap and tucked away certain supplies into various pockets. She gathered the bag up, tested its weight, and shrugged her brows. “There’s caps for lunch and dinner in the drawer with the pens and pencils. Don’t go overboard. We’ll be gone a week. Oh, and I’ll send someone here to watch the place.”

Joanna snuck a word in. “Is there some kind of danger?”

“You can never be too careful. Any qualms about…um…guess you wouldn’t work here if you did have any…shoot, Nick’s back in Diamond City…”

“What about that guy who came by the other day? Deacon?”

“ _Pfft_. Deacon?” Piper snorted. “ _No way_. He’s a notorious liar, and he’s really bad at it too, maybe on purpose to keep people confused…” Piper paused, wishing she had a gumdrop to chew on. “Or…maybe that’s _exactly_ who you need. Someone with no political or romantic ties around here and who can’t be bought.” She paced. She was too excited to stand still, and her body obliged as best as it could. “Okay, Deacon’s our guy. If I can find him. And only if you promise to keep an eye on him while he’s here. No news stuff near him. He hangs out in the lobby and keeps watch. That’s it. Don’t even talk to him beyond greetings and farewells, and make them short and simple.”

“Of course. Anything else?”

“Follow your gut, as long as it doesn’t get you killed. Did Jun tell you about Tenpines?”

“Only that he got a letter from there.”

“Jun?” Piper waved at Joanna to follow her down the stairs. “Jun, I’m gonna go find Deacon to keep watch here while we’re gone. Can you fill Joanna in? Any work she can do that connects everything to our local stories will be perfect. I’m thinking we need to do a hefty edition on this whole thing.”

“Me too,” he said. “Or would it be worth it to send copy back to Joanna to print smaller editions throughout the week?”

“Hmm…it’s risky. I mean, I’d eventually love to get to a quotidian model, but our messages could get intercepted and Joanna’s working all alone.”

“I’ll do it if you need me too,” she said. “I’ll keep copy costs in mind. Single page, that’s it.”

Piper nodded. “New plan. Jun, you need to be on the Tenpines beat. Joanna, you’re here in Sanctuary. I’ll be the one traveling back and forth. Editing on the road.”

“Something could happen to you, Piper,” said Jun.

“Yeah, well, something could happen to any of us. At least I know the route pretty well. I’m also on pretty good terms with most of the provisioners, so…if there’s anything I can’t handle, I can always walk the trails with them. They’re armored and armed to the teeth.” She glanced at her incredible employees. “Think we can do this?”

Joanna raised her hand. “I’m still somewhat unclear on what it is we’re doing.”

“Oh, right.” Piper set her supplies on a sofa, then snatched her not-dry coat and hat. “I’ll be back. Oh, and…we need to keep this under lockdown. Jun, if that means Marcy hangs out here with Joanna and Deacon to help a little, maybe with proofreading or whatever, then that’s what it means. Paid as usual. Can we do that?”

“Yes,” said Jun. “Marcy actually suggested something similar. She’s coming by later tonight. She had to do some shopping first.”

“Good.” Piper opened the door, blasting her face with cold and the bright white of the low-visibility rain. “See you all soon.”


	6. 12.18.2290 MON - Tenpines Bluff

12.18.2290 MON - Tenpines Bluff

* * *

“I’m not serving you, Cole,” said BT.

Cole’s forehead wrinkled, and his pallid peach face went pink. “I walked all this way for a hot meal!”

“You walked up a _street_.”

“In the pouring rain!”

“You don’t want what’s best for us.” BT grunted and polished a shot glass. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re on your own.”

“I don’t want all the noise!”

“And since when does Strong make noise? He keeps to himself.”

“Hey, don’t blame _me_ for that, BT.”

Piper really needed to cross the room to where Deacon sat, but her spot near the frigid door kept her out of Penny’s sight.

BT threw a towel over his shoulder and leaned on the counter toward Penny. Piper leaned too, struggling to hear over the nearby radio and the pounding rain just outside. She’d have to watch BT’s lips to fill in the gaps.

“I know what you did, and I’m not serving you until you make it right.” BT propelled away from the counter and busied himself with an abandoned plate at the opposite end of the bar.

Piper caught Deacon noticing her as Cole Penny slid off his barstool. She clicked her tongue in a split-second decision and stopped Penny before he could leave. “We need to talk, Cole.”

Cole served her a dark look as he pulled a cap over his smooth head. “I have nothing to say to a reporter.”

“Consider this a chance to exonerate yourself. BT seems to think you had something to do with the raid against Strong. You want to comment on that?”

Cole grumbled. “Do we have to? Here?”

“Yes, here.” Piper would’ve taken more care were she not in a rush. It had taken her a while to track Deacon. This was her third time in here since Jun had showed her the letter. “You were present at the raid against Strong.”

“So were you.”

“Yeah, but that’s not what we’re talking about. What does BT think you did?”

“You could ask him.”

“I’m asking you.”

“He seems to think I’m the one responsible for starting it.” Penny harumphed and crossed his arms. “How much sense does that make? If Strong were raided so people would feel comfortable eating at the Embassy, wouldn’t that be counter to what I want?”

“You tell me.”

“Yes, it would be. There’s one thing I agree with BT on, and that’s the fact that Strong doesn’t make a lot of noise. He keeps to himself. Worst any of us neighbors hear out of him is some kinda roar when things go wrong, but usually that’s when the siren’s blaring and we have something wrong to worry about.”

“How do you feel about the raid against Strong?”

“Honestly, I was pissed.”

Piper arched her brows. She had expected worse from Penny, and quickly shoved those brows back into place. She had to be objective. “Why’s that?”

“Not everyone agrees with the General. People here are good with ghouls, but they aren’t fond of Super Mutants. Keeps a lot of them away from our little pocket of the neighborhood. They pass through quickly and move on. No one from the market wanders across the avenue toward us.”

“So…you’re saying that people’s bigotry keeps you shielded from noise?”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“I am telling you what you’re telling me.” A plate of fried tatos wove through the tables, tempting Piper’s appetite.

“I know it’s not the best thing to say, but it’s true. And maybe I should’ve lead with something else. Strong’s a good neighbor. You know the last time I bought meat? Half a year ago. That’s when Strong had started to warm up to those of us tucked close to the wall.”

Piper wondered if the meat seller had noticed a loss in profits, but if Strong were still buying meat, but just bought extra, maybe not. For all Piper knew—and it was worth investigating—the meat seller was gouging Strong for caps. “He gives you meat? Do you have any of the health concerns, like those the Minutemen cited during the raid?”

“No. Strong admits he has a bad sense of how much meat he can fit into one of his bags before it just gives. Seeing as he’s limited to how many bags he can keep, and that the size of those bags pales in comparison to those we see elsewhere, since everyone wants him to keep them indoors, he often has leftovers. So he hands ’em out to me, Kathy, Greg, and Hank.”

They were the core of the “don’t move the bar” group. “Do you exchange goods with him in return, or just accept the gifts?”

“Well, two months ago, our first batch of brew was ready—”

“Wait, what brew?”

“Beer.”

“You’re home-brewing beer?”

Penny smiled. “Yep! Me and Kathy and Hank. Greg doesn’t drink, but he draws pretty good and we have some ideas for labels going. So we give some back to Strong sometimes, when a batch is ready.” Penny’s hairless brow fell back into a scowl. “We tried to get BT over there to carry our line, but he wasn’t interested.”

Piper hemmed. “So is that why you have a vendetta against Barname?”

Penny flushed. “No, it’s the noise. Mostly.”

“If BT agreed to carry your beer, would you consider dropping the protest against the move?”

“Not sure. If BT carried our line, we could brew out of the bar eventually. Running water would help.”

“You’d want a partnership of sorts?”

“Of sorts, yes.”

“No plans on opening your own bar?”

“I can’t stand too much noise at night. It’s one thing to come here during the day, or to even protest during the day, but I need the peace to recharge. Helps me think and helps me sleep.”

Piper nodded. “I think that’s good for now, Cole. Thanks for your time. Try not to get too drenched out there.”

Cole grumbled and gave a begrudging wave before leaving.

Afar, Deacon leaned on a fist, staring at Piper with his fingers tapping dramatically. She cast a glare his way and joined him.

“Too much?” he said of his gestures.

“Yeah, a little.” She sat across from him. “Hey, _soooooo_ Deacon, I need a favor.”

“What’s up?”

“I need you to keep an eye on the office for a week.”

“Uh, no can do, Pipes. I sort of have other work.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Well, I _could_ have other work.”

“Okay, so until you _get_ other work, I need you to watch the office.”

“Where’re you going?”

“Doesn’t matter. What matters is that Joanna’s still new and with everything going on, I’d like to know she’s safe. She carries a _pocket knife_ , Deacon. Not even a pipe pistol.”

“Why me?”

“Because I trust you.”

Deacon smirked. “You trust me, huh? Mind recording that for me? I’d like to play it for people at parties.”

Piper gave a little _grr_ and scrunched her eyes at him. “I trust you with _this_. Can you do it?”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Who are you, MacCready?”

Deacon gave a theatrical gasp and clutched his heart.

“Nothing’s in it for you. Someone might need protection and I think you’re capable of doing it.”

“I was just kidding, Piper. I’ll help you out whenever you need it.”

Piper brushed that off as a lie. “I need you start now.”

“Oh.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, not unless BT delivers.”

“Why don’t you ask him?” she said through a chuckle.

“Yeah, that sounds like a really bad idea.”

“I’m surprised you even let people cook food for you.”

“Given your history, Piper, I’m surprised you do the same.”

She shrugged. “Can’t be afraid of the world. That means they win, whoever _they_ are.”

Deacon smiled. “You know, Piper…”

She grinned at him. “Is there more to that sentence?”

He replied with a deliberate shake of his head. “Nope, not yet.”

“ _Oookay_.” She stood. “You get five minutes to convince BT to deliver and hope he uses a crate with a lid. See you soon.”

He laughed softly. “Yeah, see you soon.”

* * *

As Piper and Jun hiked the muddy footpath to Tenpines Bluff, a startling thought occurred to her. “Wait.” One hand cautioned Jun, while the other lowered a lantern. “I can’t remember if they have biometrics in place.”

“Probably not.” Jun’s eyes hung heavier than usual. The two of them had waited to leave Sanctuary until the rain eased from “power wash” to “drizzle,” but the weather and all its expected burdens were nothing compared to having Jun wear a proper set of armor. Combat armor was some of the lightest in the Commonwealth, but without the right modifications, it could still weigh you down if you weren’t used to it. Piper had offered to hold something for him on the way, but Jun insisted, and not to save face: he hadn’t left the Sanctuary-Abernathy area since arriving three years ago. Heading to Tenpines was his first proper adventure, and one he wasn’t forced to make to survive.

“You really wanna take that chance?” she said.

“You don’t remember getting ID’d?”

“Not really?”

“You’re not forgetful. I’m going to say we’re fine. I’m sure Samira would’ve mentioned something if the turrets here were on automatic. General Nora never wanted everyone ID’d just so they could travel safely. She _wants_ settlers to feel welcome.” Their hike recommenced. “I doubt this is an elaborate trap.”

“Wait until you’ve been doing this for a while, Jun,” said Piper. Her foot landed on a patch of crunchy gravel. She dug in, testing her footing, and continued her hike without issue. She wasn’t a huge fan of traveling at night, but after a rain like that, it would take them too long to travel the day of, even with the potential of sun to dry their path. Piper didn’t want to miss a word. She couldn’t ease the reader into a scene if the scene was already going by the time any reporter decided to show up. She and Jun had a reputation to maintain. “At least let me walk ahead of you, just in case. If you hear a turret spring to life, hit the dirt, err, mud.”

She flexed and re-flexed her empty hand, forcing blood to heat her cold digits. The other hand had the luxury of the lantern’s flame. At least she had fingerless gloves, providing some protection for hands. Jun hadn’t thought to bring anything remotely glove-like.

Jun stilled. “I hear something.”

“Doubting yourself?”

“A little.”

“That’s good. It keeps your perspective open. Anyway, we’re close. It’s probably a patrol.”

“Should we call out to them? Just to be safe?”

She replied by staying him with her hand and setting the lantern at his feet, albeit dimmer than it was before. She crept forward, mimicking some of Blue’s tactics and cringing when she snapped a twig underfoot. No alarms raised. She completed her ascent and caught the glint of lantern light off an inactive turret. She approached cautiously, unable to see much else in the night rain, and followed the fuzzy orange until she spotted Tenpines’ local guards.

“Piper Wright? That you?”

“Yes,” she said, struggling to recall the guard’s name, though she recognized his warm eyes, and noticed his black dreadlocks were now long enough to secure behind his neck. “Do you have biometrics here? Are your turrets set on automatic? I have a colleague with me, just beneath their sights, but he’s never been here before and we’re worried the turret will open fire.”

“Jun Long?”

“Yes.”

“No biometrics here. Can’t really afford the extra equipment, so our turrets are all manual.”

Interesting. Something to consider putting in the paper, but Piper had to balance calling out the neglectful Minutemen with putting Tenpines Bluff at risk. Couldn’t exactly tell the whole Commonwealth that one of the settlements considering secession from the Minutemen didn’t have fully functional turrets. Piper wondered if she had the caps to give the turrets a means of identifying friendly from hostile, but she still hadn’t recovered from all the caps spent on her last harrowing adventure. Maybe Hancock? So long as it was from the man, not the mayor?

And would it be worth it to take copies of Sanctuary’s biometrics files to settlements without a system in place? Or would that be risky, to make them copiable files? Did Tenpines _need_ a fully automated system? Would it release some guards to commit to other work? Was it better to suggest that Tenpines do what Sanctuary and other more fortified settlements did, and have automated, greatly prejudiced turrets guarding outer walls, with manual turrets at the main gate? Wouldn’t Tenpines need proper walls for a system like that?

Oh god. The story here wasn’t just about secession, or Minutemen neglect. It was a classic tale about the haves versus the have-nots, and the twisted ideologies used to separate them. The haves, once upon a time a collection of have-nots, now the barriers to success. Piper wondered if humanity would ever realize that prosperity wasn’t finite if barriers weren’t in place. Once removed, prosperity could exponentially increase.

She sighed. Humanity would never give up power, and it would never stop using bastardized Darwinism as an excuse to exploit others. At least if she and Jun did their jobs right, some of those Darwinian myths could be dispelled. She hoped.

Piper watched her breath turn into clouds. The guard’s look pried her for a response.

“I’ll be right back with Jun.”

She found Jun bouncing on his heels for warmth, his cold nose sniffling. She took the lantern from his feet and gave a nod before making the trek up the last incline to Tenpines Bluff. Her legs ached; they must’ve punched their timecard when she first got here.

The guard introduced himself as Malik to Jun, and Piper suddenly recalled a trip to Tenpines with Blue, wherein she and Malik traded ammo very quickly before fending off an invasion of Rust Devils. His brown complexion still bore the scars of that fight.

Malik led Piper and Jun through the sole dirt road in town to a two-story home built atop the remains of a pre-war cottage. Aside from this particular building, the settlement looked as Piper remembered it. This time last year, Sanctuary had added another turret to the collection on its concrete ramparts. There were six major buildings total here in Tenpines, including the original shack of the settlement. The word major was a bit of a misnomer, used only to set aside the structures from those lacking proper roofs or four walls. Three lean-tos overlooked a farm plot guarded by one sleeping turret and a partially standing wire fence. One lean-to housed a moving sleeping bag.

Piper’d thought everyone under Minutemen protection had gotten rid of sleeping bags by now.

Malik knocked on the door and cautiously entered. Three women slept on ratty sofas and chairs, and a child slept half inside a sleeping bag with a teddy bear for a pillow. Piper and Jun shared glances and psychic-reporter observations about the conditions.

“Samira?” Malik’s whisper barely cut through the chug of the small generator outside.

Footsteps creaked down the stairs in the far corner. Piper raised her lantern and saw their host, a willowy woman of pale brown complexion, wearing long sleeves and overalls. Age-frosted hair poked out from beneath her green headscarf.

Samira greeted everyone silently then pointed upstairs. Malik politely allowed Piper and Jun to follow behind her first. Samira tread lightly down the short hallway, into a room lit by a musty lantern and outfitted with an old desk bearing multitudes of handwritten documents.

“I’m sorry, Samira,” Malik whispered. “You mentioned you’d be working throughout the the night, and I thought you would’ve wanted to know sooner. This is Jun Long and Piper Wright.”

Samira smiled warmly at them. “Thank you, Malik.” She had a farmer’s voice, one that had known bad weather and the crops it took. “I’ll handle their accommodations.” She nodded at him, and he returned to his post outside. “I’m sorry I have only one chair to offer you. I’m Samira Amer. Mr. Long, I am guessing you received my letter?”

Piper leaned on the doorframe, proud to give Jun his shining moment.

“Yes, I did,” he said. “I’m sorry to show up here without a response. I didn’t want to risk anything additional being sent and intercepted. We’re thrilled to be here.”

Samira nodded. “I hope you took no offense to my letter, Miss Wright.”

“Nope. I considered it a…reader recommendation.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Samira smiled. “Your piece on the Abernathys’ success since joining the Minutemen was very heartfelt,” she said to Jun. “I cried like a baby. They’re old friends of mine. We don’t see each other so much now, but I had the fortunate experience of seeing their daughters grow. They are good people, and what happened was an unforgettable tragedy. I cried like a baby then, too.”

“I’m so grateful they allowed me into their lives,” said Jun. “I really connected with them. Their story needed to be told.”

Samira smiled thoughtfully and regarded her desk. “I agree, and I hope you’ll tell our story too. No one else has been listening. We were one of the earliest settlements to have joined the reborn Minutemen. That was three years ago. Since then, we’ve watched Sanctuary clear its ruins and build up walls. We’ve watched Starlight do the same. We’re so close to what’s become the de facto capital, and yet we receive squat in attention and the barest of protections. We remain poor and barely sheltered. Imagine being unprotected through a raging rad storm, and having to choose between buying RadAway from a caravan or buying food for your children. Parents choose the latter, hoping to stave death in ghouldom, but those who’ve made these choices have not had their hopes fulfilled, and instead leave behind orphans. These orphans don’t always survive. We’re sick of it.”

Jun listened intently, but Piper’s mind wandered—no, _stomped_ through her past, angry at Blue for what happened here. Blue hadn’t intentionally ignored Tenpines or Zimonja, had she? This had just been a case of not delegating tasks that could be delegated. It had to be. _Or she just wanted to build a home for her and her son._ So why focus on the other settlements she focused on? _Didn’t see say she and Nate used to go to Starlight?_

No. No more speculative pieces. Those caused trouble. Only objective facts were news. The rest were opinion pieces, and had to be labeled as such.

She unclenched a fist, a fist formed in anger over orphaned children, formed in anger because Blue wasn’t the same Blue she had met back in Diamond City. Piper took a deep breath, and exhaled her rage. Unbridled anger could not write the news.

And she couldn’t entertain whether or not it could motivate it, either.

Not while it was unfolding before her.

Samira shook her head. “Listen to me, rattling off every grievance to you. You’ll hear more in time. I only hope it doesn’t come off as bullshit. I have a place for you to stay. Please follow me.”

Samira showed them across the hall, where storage trunks had been rearranged into a bed frame for a flat mattress. She lit the single lantern in the corner and apologized for the arrangements. “I should’ve anticipated both of you would come, but the mattress should be wide enough for both of you. If there’s anything else you need, please ask.”

“This is perfect, Miss Amer,” said Piper. She’d have traded with the child downstairs, but maybe the kid liked sleeping bags, like Nat. They did tend to be warmer, for as uncomfortable as they were. “Thank you.”

“Yes,” said Jun. “Thank you. I hope you get some rest too.”

Samira smiled. “You’re very kind. Good night.”

“Good night,” the reporters replied.

They set down their things and immediately brought out their notebooks.

“Game plan,” Piper whispered. “You stay with Samira, and I’ll hit the town and talk to people, maybe see if any crops need picking. We get the story of the conference’s first meeting, and write all night. I’ll head back the morning of the next day, or whenever we finish writing, to get them printed.”

“So this may be our only chance to sleep.”

“Yep.” She scribbled down her notes. “The sooner we’re done, the sooner we can sleep.”

_Snap._ Jun looked at the broken tip of his pencil in horror. Piper swiftly tossed him her pencil sharpener. He shaved the pencil into his own bag and continued writing.

By the time Piper lay down, the birds had begun their morning tweets.


	7. 12.19.2290 TUES - Scribble

12.19.2290 TUES - Scribble

* * *

To say that talks about the livelihoods of settlement were riveting would sound like something out of Deacon’s mouth. Piper was bored. She chastised herself for every hidden yawn and urge to snack on candy, because these were not boring items. The protection and feeding of people was important, but it lacked the _drama_ she had become accustomed to, so maybe she needed to realign herself with her own ideals.

Or maybe the speaker from Outpost Zimonja lacked the charisma of people like Hancock.

Sure, Samira’s letter had brought with it intrigue and the delight of new, unforeseen circumstances, but that was part of the problem. Were these really unforeseen circumstances?

Piper summoned all her might to stave off the latest yawn. No, it wasn’t the charisma of the speaker at all. It was lack of sleep.

Nuka. Cola. Needed.

As if by magic, Jun nudged her, holding two bottles of the caffeine-enriched drink. A while back, there’d been a worry in the Commonwealth that the supply of Nuka-Colas was getting too low. A bottle of ordinary cola had gone for 200 caps. One day, it came back with a force. Piper had been relieved to find it in stock everywhere again. She’d heard rumors that gangs of raiders had been responsible for the shortage in order to hike the prices, but it must not’ve panned out the way they’d wanted. She’d tried investigating it, but Nick warned her to keep her distance, and something about his voice had convinced her to at least _shelve_ the idea until later. Whatever had happened, Piper had been thankful, and she was never more thankful than now. She cracked open a bottle and handed Jun the cap.

Nothing could compare to the soft, thirst-quenching bubbles of a Nuka-Cola. Had she read that on an advertisement somewhere?

Just knowing she was due for an energy burst lifted her eyelids. She leaned to Jun. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Don’t feel bad. I’m tired too. Even Miss Amer looks exhausted.”

Piper glanced down from her perch atop the founding shack. It was one of the uncrowded places providing a proper view of the talks that was still within earshot. The crowd below was thick, and a sea of tents painted the hillside behind them. She wondered if Zimonja had left behind anything more than a skeleton crew.

“Where is she?”

“Miss Amer? She moved to that side.”

“Oh.”

Well, she did look tired, but she seemed to hide it better than Piper.

“Oh my _god_.” Piper grumbled and took an angry sip of her cola before passing it back to Jun. “Could you hold this, please?”

“What is it?”

“Just a pest is all. I’ll be right back.” Piper hiked up the back of her coat and scuttled down the ladder leaning against the metal shack. She wove through the crowd and sparse tato vines until she was nearly beside Samira Amer herself, then stepped before a suspicious farmer. Before he could eyeball her from above his shades, she planted a hand on his chest and silently marched him backward out of the crowd until they were back at the ladder. She wordlessly pointed at the rooftop and demanded he climb. Deacon obeyed. She followed.

Atop the shack, Jun handed Piper her cola, then gave Deacon a double take before shaking his head and returning his attention to the conference. Piper forced Deacon to wedge between her and Jun, and radiated anger at him until the day’s meetings were done.

Deacon sighed. “So I’m gonna go hit the can—”

Piper scowled at him. “Unless it’s a can back in _Sanctuary_ , you’re going to stay put and wait for the line to the outhouse to die down.”

“Look, when it comes to what’s happening here, it’s kind of important.”

Jun turned to Deacon. “You told Piper you would help protect the office. After everything that’s been happening, you left Marcy and Joanna there alone. They’re not fighters, and you made a promise.”

Piper smirked at Deacon’s silence.

“I have to catch up with Miss Amer, Piper.” Jun collected his things and headed for the ladder. “See you back at the room.”

“Good plan, Jun. Keep up the good work.” Piper swiftly turned to Deacon again. “He’s right. You made a promise.”

“Did I? Or did I say that I’m sort of on call for work? Because this is the kind of thing I can’t just ignore.”

“Yeah?”

Deacon kept his eyes forward. “Smoke break?”

Piper grumbled again. “Fine.” They ventured down the ladder and followed the namesake bluff until they were on the backside of the two-story building, far enough from the humming generator to speak without shouting, but cloaked from both the wind and eavesdroppers. She shivered and reached into her pocket, but Deacon offered her a cigarette, a brand more common in the Capital Wasteland, and lit it for her before lighting his own.

Piper exhaled her first plume. “Do any of us actually smoke, or do we just do this as an excuse to find some sound-sheltered privacy?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna go ahead and say that Hancock’s the only one who really enjoys it every time.”

She coughed a little. “Guess that means these are bad for you.”

“Guess so.”

They shared a light chuckle. Piper toed a small rock. “Did Joanna tell you, or did you sneak around my office?”

“She told me. It was by complete accident, because she was actually muttering a list of things to herself and I overheard it because overhearing things is a kink of mine.”

Piper grimaced. “Too much, Deacon.”

“Yeah, I kinda felt that the second it slipped out.”

“Where was Marcy?”

“Sweeping up the print room.”

“You _swear_ you didn’t con Joanna into it or go snooping?” Piper gave him a flippant flick of her cigarette, a gentle warning. “Because you know that covert operatives really shouldn’t piss off reporters.”

“Don’t I have some sort of anonymity protection?”

“You’re not exactly a source, Deacon.”

“Fair enough. Yes, I swear. Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye, and other painful, Inquisition-esque forms of punishment, yada yada. But don’t worry, I’ve got those two covered. They’re not there all by their lonesome.”

“Who?”

“MacGreedy.”

Piper puffed out a satisfying stream of smoke. It offered her a second of reflection for what came next. MacCready wasn’t a _bad_ replacement, per se, but his former work with the Gunners had always made her uneasy, especially when he was around Marcy or Jun. The Longs had claimed they held no grudges against him, but still, Piper wanted to be considerate in case anything changed. “Deacon, tell me you aren’t taking advantage of him.”

“Ew, no.” He scrunched his face, then rubbed his eyes with the hand that held his cigarette. Either shades or smoke were about to fall, and Piper probably would’ve laughed at either mishap. “Wait, what?”

Piper chortled. “Oh my god, you have no idea. Oh my _god_.” She slapped her thigh and cackled at him. “Oh my god, _Deacon_ , you have no clue. This is so funny.” She thumbed away a tear in her eye then ashed her cigarette. “Not funny for him, but _oh man_ , you’ve been going about this all wrong and it’s so freaking obvious.”

“He’s not just trying to figure me out?” Realization dawned on Deacon, and he rubbed his eyes again, this time without nearly losing his smoke or his glasses. “Oh no. You’re not saying that.”

Piper’s cackle chugged wickedly through her nose.

Deacon held a hand to his gaping mouth. “…I think we accidentally went on a date once.”

Piper laughed harder.

“…This isn’t funny, Piper.”

Her cheeks hurt from grinning so hard. “Yes it is, oh goodness, yes it is. Oh, I’m sorry, MacCready, I don’t mean to laugh at you…”

A settler poked their head around the corner, their brows arched curiously at their laughter.

“Sorry,” Deacon said, waving them away. “I just farted and it sounded like a brahmin, so you can see why we’re in this situation.”

The settler made a face and left them alone.

“Nothing like the threat of an epic fart to clear a space,” Deacon said. “Maybe I should try that? Tell MacGreedy I’m too gassy to love. One tight hug and KABOOM!”

Piper caught her breath, albeit it with caution, lest he weren’t joking about the gas. Thankfully, the toxic smoke from the nearby generator covered up any other offensive scents. “Just go easy on him from now on, okay? I’m not saying to give him a shot, but try not to accidentally exploit his feelings for you when passing off work, maybe?”

“Smoking this in silence seems very appealing. Let’s do that.”

“I’m serious.”

“You’re sure he…uh…you know.”

“It kinda looks that way.”

“Maybe he just…looks up to me.” He gave an awkward smile. “Yeah, let’s go with that.”

Piper snorted. “Doubt that.”

“I’m what, twice his age?”

Piper leaned against the wall of the creaking building and folded one arm. “Are you, now?”

“Three times. He’s 45, right?”

“Nice try.”

Deacon leaned beside her, and the building didn’t make a peep. “Nothing gets past you, huh Piper Wright?”

“Nope. At least I hope not.”

“ _You’re_ older than him though, right?”

“Than MacCready? Is it important?”

“He’s just like, _really_ young. Half plus eight and all. Or is it seven? Let’s make it eight. Or nine.”

“But how important is it?”

Deacon blushed a little and stared ahead. “Information reasons, and stuff. Age gaps can be weird. For friendship reasons. Generational dilemmas.”

She laughed softer than before, and her abdomen thanked her. “Right. I honestly don’t know how old anyone is, really. Except Nat and Blue and Nick.”

“Anyone who makes it out of childhood alive is a blessing. Except raiders. Fuck those guys.” He reached the end of his smoke and gave the end of it a disappointing look before stomping it out. “Shit, I really didn’t want another one of these.” He took out his pack and offered her another, but she hadn’t gone through hers yet. After lighting and taking the initial inhale, he said, “You can’t publish this story, Piper.”

“Excuse me?”

“These people are defenseless, and advertising that to a place where the majority of people are raiders is a mistake.”

“You put a lot of faith in the literacy of raiders.”

“Because raiders aren’t exactly born into it, Piper.”

“I know that.”

“You should also know that these two settlements lie along a literal railroad.” He gestured beyond the bluff.

“Oh _please_ , Deacon. You would never tell anyone your routes, firstly, and secondly, I’m pretty sure there’s nasties all along the rails.”

“So you’re _totally_ comfortable just telling everyone about the basically undefended settlements a stone’s throw from the Minutemen’s official-slash-unofficial capital? They have the Castle, sure, but it’s not the best spot, despite what the name makes you think. Sanctuary’s got it all: the walls, the defenses, the caps, the food, the _people_. It’s even got a damn Vault. Bad enough raiders took the quarry, but give them more farmland? Yeah, pretty sure cutting off—”

“Goodness, Deacon, do you ever _stop_ talking? I know all of this, and I care about all of this, but I have a duty to the People. Don’t you think the other settlements might have an interest in keeping this place and Zimonja safe? That they might want to rally behind their cause and offer resources? Maybe get the Minutemen to focus on the _bigger_ issue before the whole organization implodes again?”

“Piper,” he said upon exhaling a trail of smoke away from her face. She took the moment to stub out the butt of her cigarette. “That’s too idealistic. People just don’t rally for each other. They don’t care about the important things. They care about caps and the stupid things, like neighborhood noise.”

“My job is to show them they _can_. I’m publishing this— _we_ are publishing this. If we don’t tell the Minutemen that they need to be kept in check, people might start turning to the _Brotherhood_. Do you really want that?”

“No. But I also don’t want these people to get slaughtered in the middle of the night by rabid Rust Devils or Disciples.”

“Disciples? What are you talking about? Disciples of whom? Atom?”

Tendrils of smoke rose from his nostrils. “You don’t want to know.”

“I’m starting to think you’re only a good smoking buddy when Hancock’s around.” She shook her head at him. “You’re wasting my time now, Deacon. Just leave us alone and let us do our job.” She beelined for the corner.

“Let me do mine.”

She _tch_ ed. “Like you’d ask permission.”

“Says Piper Wright.”

She growled.

Piper returned to the room she shared with Jun, wondering if those she passed in the house had heard any of her argument/conversation with Deacon. Didn’t matter. Deacon was infuriating and way too into the business of misinformation. Nothing could be more anathema to her doctrine. She fumed quietly while writing her first piece, only to find herself wasting ink on tiny fires in the margins. She grumbled from her seat on the bed and looked up to see Jun ready to knock on the doorframe.

“Hey, Jun.”

“Sorry, didn’t want to startle you. You looked really intent.” He set down some papers beside her and sat opposite her on the mattress. “You might want to review some of this.”

She lifted the pages. Many were Jun’s notes, but there were also several documents. “Minutemen orders for work?”

“Yep.”

“Signed by the same guy.” To her, the name was a bunch of loops that could’ve been the literal word _Scribble_ , but her mental list of names turned up no results for anything resembling Scribble, let alone anything starting with an S. Or G. Was that a G? Maybe a Q? “Is it typed anywhere?”

“No, but we know they’re stationed in Sanctuary as of… _this_ date.” He sorted through the documents and handed one off. “That’s when their signature starts appearing, and precisely when more work orders were getting denied or lost.”

“These are originals,” she said of the documents.

“They have no means of making copies here.” Jun recollected the sheets. “We’ve been given permission to use them as long as they don’t leave the settlement.”

“Hmm.” Piper had the urge to nibble on something sweet. “What if we ask them to part with just one of them?” She wiggled her fingers, asking Jun to pass the documents her way. She flipped through, and found what she needed. “Here. An order for ammunition. It looks like it was only partially filled, but it’s not really a document that helps us sell the case that this person’s been signing off on every denial. Ammo’s a big deal, but not as big of a deal as…here, this water pump. Who’d you get these from?”

“Yasmina. Have you met her?”

“No.”

“She’s in charge of the ordering here. She coordinates with the guards and farmers to get what’s needed.”

“Keep talking to her,” Piper said. “I’m going to ask about taking this document back to Sanctuary when I go. Maybe someone there can ID the signature.” She stared at Scribble a little longer. Not Blue’s signature, nor Preston’s. Maybe these orders weren’t even making it that high up. Did calls for help make it their way either? Was there actually some outside danger influencing this whole thing? Someone playing a chess game who was banking on the secession of Tenpines and Zimonja? What did Deacon say? Rust Devils or…Disciples, was it?

“Jun.” Piper stared beyond him for a moment, before releasing her thought. “Be careful. There’s multiple ways this could go, and all those ways could be tangled up together. Just be careful. Try to find out the chain these orders go through on this end. Who takes it, what times, everything. Deacon might be right without realizing it.”

“What does Deacon have to do with it?”

“Nothing. Never mind about that.”

“I don’t trust him, Piper.”

That struck her as odd. It wasn’t abnormal for people to openly distrust Deacon, but it was abnormal for Jun to openly distrust anyone. That’s part of what made him so different in his grief. Despite the betrayal and the sadness, he still saw the best in people, even when he couldn’t see it in himself. “Why?”

Pressed now for the negative details of someone, Jun shied away. “I…I’m just afraid he’s using you. I don’t think he’s honest with anyone.”

“You’re right about that, but he’s not who everyone thinks he is.”

“Piper.” Jun placed his hand gently atop hers. “You’re a good friend. My best friend, next to Marcy. I…I see…I don’t…I don’t think you two want the same thing out of your…smoke breaks.”

Piper shook her head and inched away. “I don’t, um, I don’t really see where you’re going.”

Jun sighed and looked aside. He slowly swung his legs off the bed and picked up something set just outside the door. He returned with a freshly plucked hubflower, then handed it to her. “I don’t think he is who he says he is. Even if he means _this_ , Piper, that other part of him will always come first.”

She took the flower, which had fared much better than the last one. Its waxy stem had retained its strength. “Like with Blue.”

To her dismay, Jun nodded. “Please be careful too, Piper.

She twirled the flower, then stood, holding it lax at her side while the document she needed was tucked safely into her coat. “I don’t know what to say, Jun, but thanks for looking out for me. Now let’s get to work, alright? I want to get this back to the office and back out into the world. I’m going to find out about this document. I’ll be back.”

Piper waded through the thinning crowd, who’d started filtering back their tents at the edge of the settlement. It took Piper some time to find Yasmina, who was agreeable to the temporary loan of the document, and before long, the sun was setting whilst meats roasted. She caught up with Jun again, who’d acquired two plates of mystery roast (looked like bloatfly, blech). They took the opportunity to cushion their stories, and walked around the jovial encampment. Piper struggled to keep the meal down until the gossip train led her to a source of gloriously sweet and spicy sauce. After appraising the establishment offering such a fine delicacy, a tent managed by two fathers and their kids, Piper took the plunge and found her stomach more amenable to the maybe-bloatfly.

Upon discovering just where Jun had acquired the plate from, Piper returned it, planning on washing her own dish, but a wash station had been set up and was both fully functional and staffed. She gave her thanks to those washing the plates and headed back for the settlement proper. Small fires warmed her cheeks as she passed, cutting through the chill of the night. She wondered what Jun had written, given how little she’d written herself, despite all the information they’d gathered thus far.

“I just love mutfruit bread,” said a familiar voice. She paused, watching the suspicious farmer tell his co-campers another fanciful story. “Best slice I ever had was up in Far Harbor, true story. All that fog makes some wicked razorgrain.” He caught her eye. “Anyway, nice chatting. Catch you gators later.” He dusted his hands on his thighs and nodded at a rather large tent. There were a few of these in the encampment, with minimal but existent standing room, and Deacon must’ve snagged one for himself somehow. Piper followed him within.

“I see you got my message,” he said, indicating the flower tucked beside her ear while he lit a lantern. He immediately dimmed the light, seemingly wary of any information that silhouettes made.

“Is the message that you want me to cook chems with you?” She took the flower and set it down on a cluster of cinder blocks supporting the tent’s central pole.

“Not really into chems anymore, so no.”

“Anymore? That another slip up?”

“I’m not really wanting to do that with you.” He took off his gloves and briefly massaged his palms. “I’m sorry, Piper. My plan isn’t to piss you off.”

“But you have a plan, huh?”

He uncoiled the tattered scarf around his neck and hung it on the back of a folding chair. “No. Not for this anyway. My only plan right now is to make sure you know I’m sorry for being a dick. Again, I figured that the best way to demonstrate this emotion was to decapitate a hubflower and leave it wordlessly and cowardly beside the door to your room whilst you were in it, so uh, there’s that.”

She sighed through her nose and crossed her arms. “So did you get what you needed here?”

“I think so.”

“Care to share?”

“Not really.” He unbuttoned his flannel, revealing a disheveled t-shirt, and the flannel joined the scarf. “Where are my manners?” He gestured to the chair. “Please, sit. I’ll grab us something to drink. Water?”

She giggled at the show. “Water’s fine.”

“Okay, good. How about some whiskey for flavor?”

“Yes please.”

Deacon dramatically produced two glasses and a frighteningly clean bottle of whiskey. He wiggled a container of purified water at her, and she begrudgingly reiterated her approval of diluting the drink, thinking of all the writing work yet to be done. One little drink, and back to work. He obliged, mixing up the watery cocktails before suggesting a toast.

“To…uh, deceased flower friends, who met their untimely deaths in the pursuit of life, liberty, and happiness for humans and humanoids.”

“I know you’re not a synth,” she whispered.

“Or _do_ you?”

“Uh huh. To flowers.”

“Flower _friends_.”

They grinned and toasted.

Goodness, that whiskey was probably pretty good without all the water. “Where’d you lift that from, some pre-war politician’s bunker?”

“…It’s Hancock’s.”

Watery whiskey shot up her nose in a snort. “Are you kidding me? You took this from Hancock?”

“He won’t miss it.”

“Wow, you and MacCready are more alike than I thought.” She smiled wickedly behind her glass.

“I’m gonna get you back for that somehow. Politely. Respectfully. But vengeance nonetheless will be visited upon thee.” He grabbed the folding chair and brought it closer to the pole. “Or thou. Whatever one makes more sense.” He took the flannel and gestured for her to sit, and she did so. “Can you hold this?” He held out his drink.

“Sure.”

He rolled up the flannel and placed his new cushion on the cinder blocks. He sat down with his back to the pole. “If this thing wobbles too much, tell me before the tent caves in. Trust me, it’s not fun to weasel your way out from under a giant tarp. Particularly one with a lot of patches and holes. It can get messy. However, I _did_ hear tarp dresses are totally in this year, so there’s a plus if you’re stuck.” He sat down. “Trade?”

“Huh? Oh.” She handed him back his glass. “What are you trading?”

He produced the flower. “May I?”

She nodded slowly. “You may.” Heat rushed to her cheeks as he leaned forward and tucked the flower back in place. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Trade complete.”

“Not quite,” she said. She set down her drink. “May _I_?”

A smile hesitantly crossed his face. “You’re not asking what I think you’re asking, are you?”

“Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“No…but I can’t guarantee what you’ll see this time is a lie.”

“And what will I see?”

His face softened. “The truth of a man with a fierce woman reflected in his eyes.”

“Fierce, huh?”

“Ferocious, even. So smart it makes the heart go wild.” He paused, and set his drink down, before letting a gaze linger. “So, are you gonna take these shades, Piper?”

“I ask again, may I?”

“Please do.”

She closed the small gap between them and lifted his glasses with the touch of a thief. She folded them with one hand and, with a suggestion from his touch, hung them from the collar of his t-shirt. Her palm opened within his, and she brushed the short bristles along his jaw, when a sliver of smooth, silvery pink caught her eye.

“What’s this from?” She thumbed the tiny scar. “It looks surgical.”

“It is.”

“But this beard is yours, right?” She traced the scar again, glancing the bristles of salted red.

“Yeah. You don’t get skin grafts or anything. They just move bits of you around. Never had a facelift before, Piper?”

She gave him a bemused look. “You trying to say something, Deacon?”

He reassured her with a squeeze. “Yeah, and not doing such a great job, apparently. Am I fired now? Should I quit first? What keeps my dignity intact?”

She laughed a little and allowed him to take her other hand. She’d expected him to smell of whiskey and cigarettes, but instead he smelled of spices and relaxing campfires. “How many facelifts have you actually had?”

He answered without darting his eyes. “One.”

“Why?”

“Because it got messed up during a bad fight a few years ago.”

“If I asked where you got it done, would you tell me?”

“Let’s say there were some doctors around who’d forget to create a file on you, if you had the caps. Not the best at their jobs, but they didn’t ask a lot of questions.”

Piper knew of a doctor like that, but he’d killed a friend of Nick’s, and Blue had apparently taken care of him. She let her fingers enjoy the ripple between stubble and smoothness. “So this is your real face.”

“Technically.”

“But shape-wise.”

“…I’d rather not answer that. Besides, you can change your face’s shape with some clever painting. Might come in handy for an undercover story.” He stroked her palm. “Your skin might hate you for a while, but it kind of already hates all this sun and radiation and dirt, so I think it can handle a little makeup.”

“I knew it!” She smirked and patted his cheek. “You. Use. Makeup! So where’d you find something good enough to do that?”

“You can make it,” he said, blinking in time with every pat. “Though I had to seek out the good stuff from one of those old TV studios to get the ghoul folds just right.”

“The what now? Did you just say what I thought you said?”

“Yeah. I went ghoul for a brief moment in time. The nose was the toughest—”

She slithered out of his touch, hating the picture he put into her mind. “People aren’t costumes, Deacon.”

“Yeah, I’ve been told, and I get it now.” His voice dropped several degrees, and his back straightened. “Don’t worry, I won’t do it again.”

“You sure don’t sound like you get it.”

“I’m not really into dwelling, Vault or otherwise. I was just trying out a new way to go incognito. You know. To _save lives_. Apparently that reason isn’t good enough. It’s not like I didn’t admit it was a mistake, but honestly—”

“—‘ _Honestly’_ —” She huffed.

“— _Honestly_ , I thought I was doing the right thing at the time. I really do get it now, but I’m allowed to talk about it, aren’t I? Because, you know, _saving lives_? Isn’t that an understandable reason to make a mistake?”

“Intent doesn’t matter. How it’s received does. Don’t you know that in your line of work?”

“I fucked up, Piper. Apparently I also fucked _this_ up by telling you. Just be happy I’m not lying.”

“This? And you have the nerve to ask me to be _grateful_ you’re not being _worse_ right now?” She growled. “What’re you, some kind of bully? You literally showed up here after breaking a promise to me, and now you tell me you used to think it was okay to just… _goodness_ , Deacon. There is no _this_.”

“I see that,” he snatched his shades and slid them on. “Just another mistake. No biggie. I’m an _expert_ in making mistakes. I should write a book or something. Hey, does the paper have room for another advice column? I’m thinking ‘Deacon’s Ditch.’ You know. Because I’m always digging them for myself. Whaddya say?”

Piper growled again, this time at his attempt to misdirect. “You could’ve done better. What kind of mindset do you even _need_ to think that was ever okay? Blue saves lives all the time without disrespecting entire communities.”

“Well I’m not Nora.”

“No, you really aren’t.” Piper launched off the chair, narrowly missing her drink, and headed for the flaps leading out. “Good night, Deacon.”

“Yeah, good night to you, or whatever. Don’t get killed on the way back. I’m not really up for doing the whole funeral thing.”

She growled once more and stomped away from the tent. Inside, a fuzzy shadow downed a glass of watered-down whiskey.

 


	8. 12.20.2290 WED - The Blues

12.20.2290 WED - The Blues

* * *

HISTORICAL CONFERENCE CHALLENGES MINUTEMEN GOVERNMENT

by Jun Long

Tenpines Bluff, one of the current Minutemen’s longest-pledged settlements, is hosting a week-long conference on democracy and the potential secession from Minutemen protection. The conference opened on December 19th, with several representatives from both Tenpines and its neighboring settlement, Outpost Zimonja, in attendance. The representatives seek to address vital issues plaguing each settlement, which both settlements agree would not be issues if the Minutemen honored their contracts.

Amongst grievances listed are poor maintenance, lack of supplies, and ignored work requests. Hunger and the poor health of citizens, including death, have been consequences of Minutemen inattention.

Documents drafted by Samira Amer of Tenpines Bluff outline demands for the Minutemen, which include filling all work orders, and a restructuring of the Minutemen government to one more democratic in nature. Should the Minutemen fail to meet these demands, Tenpines Bluff and Outpost Zimonja will secede and form a democratic government of their own, based largely on the historical democracy founded after the Revolutionary War.

“We invite the General and members of her small council to join us on these talks,” said Amer during her opening speech. “We understand that managing over thirty settlements is quite a task, but that is no excuse for ignoring the livelihoods of some, while granting preferential treatment to others. This is why we believe a more democratic government will be beneficial for the Minutemen. No one settlement will be placed above another, and more voices will generate more ideas and innovation.”

Amer contacted the Publick Occurrences office in Sanctuary Hills to notify this reporter of the conference. Her communication cited Goodneighbor Mayor John Hancock’s recent speech on democracy as the inspiration for this conference, a thought reiterated by both Amer and other speakers during the opening day. Representative from Zimonja, Allison Baker, said in her speech, “Although many scoff at the dangers in Goodneighbor, Mayor Hancock has established a safe haven for all voices. No one voice is louder than another, and any who seek to impede the freedoms of another are punished. While we would like to structure our justice system in the spirit of the U.S. Constitution, it is Goodneighbor who reminds us that we are all equal and worthy of dignity and respect.”

* * *

Piper clacked her tongue in an attempt to swallow the bitter slurry of herbs. She chased the supplement with half a bottle of Nuka-Cola, then stared at the cursor on her terminal.

“Piper!” Joanna shouted from downstairs. She had a light-footed run, but Piper could hear every other step as if it pounded in her mind. “Piper!” Joanna appeared in the open doorway of Piper’s office, slightly out of breath, her tousled bun wet with rain. “I need caps. Carla has a sparkling typewriter and a _ton_ of ribbon.”

“Are you kidding me?” It was a miracle Carla had even returned after being harassed for sign materials. Piper pulled open her cap drawer, her arms complaining about the force of the tug. “Think you can talk her down from her price?”

“Yes.”

“Here.” Piper passed her a small pouch. Joanna peered inside. “Don’t let her know how much is in there.”

“Got it.” Joanna darted away, leaving Piper and her terminal alone.

An opinion piece. Something to prod Blue into action. Piper thought of just heading to Blue’s home, but finding Blue these days was a crapshoot. Who knows whom she was adventuring around the Commonwealth with. If Blue would even care what Piper had to say.

“You don’t have time for this, Piper,” she muttered. She had to be back on the road in an hour, and somehow manage to get an ID on Scribble before then. Her back yearned for her bed.

A shadow crossed the doorway and knocked twice. “Hey, stranger,” said MacCready. A new hat, nearly the same shade of green and the same style as the one he lost in a rough bout with Rust Devils, sat upon his head. “Whatcha working on?”

“Nothing, apparently.” She spun in her chair. “Is Deacon paying you alright?”

“I’m not getting paid for this. It seemed like the right thing to do.”

“Huh, so you aren’t all about the caps, huh.”

“Come on, Piper, that’s not fair. After all I did for you recently?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Sorry. Haven’t been sleeping well.” She rubbed her eyes and took another sip of cola. “Are you…never mind.” Piper didn’t want to think about Deacon right now.

“What?”

“Nothing. I remembered something more important.” She yawned. “Goodness, what is wrong with me? Anyway, have you noticed anything alarming going on? Anyone stalking the office or anyone working here?”

“Nope. Things have been pretty good, actually. Inner city patrols have increased since the Neighborhood Watch got here, but that’s to be expected.”

_Expected_ , but not exactly _right_. “How’s Hancock?”

“His usual ‘high’-functioning self.” He leaned against the doorframe. “Have you talked to Nora lately? She keeps blowing me off and talking to that ass—to Danse.”

Piper let out a long-winded sigh. “Blue and I aren’t really speaking at the moment.”

“You ever wonder if she’s just playing all of us for the perks?”

“What perks?”

“You know, my precision. Your ability to chat up anyone. Strong’s…strong-ness.”

Piper swept her hair out of her face and contemplated tying it back to relieve the warmth in her neck. “No, no. I think she’s just built differently than us. Sometimes I thought maybe, I…but maybe…she’s just someone who doesn’t have a _one_.”

“Whoa, we don’t have to get that deep, Piper.”

“Sorry. I’ve been trying to stay out of it, but it’s starting to kill my writing spirit.”

“So you think she’s poly?”

“She could be.”

MacCready shrugged and rolled up a troublesome sleeve. “You’re usually right about a lot of things, Piper, but I’m not sure about this. I’ve known polyamorous people. That’s not how they act. They don’t play their partners or potential partners off each other. She just flits from person to person without talking to them about her needs, and hides behind the term ‘free spirit.’ That’s only freedom for _her_. Not the rest of us. _Mungo_. If you could talk to any one of us Companions before some of us start fighting over her, you’d hear some things.”

“What things?” Piper knew of the almost-to-blows fights, the jealousy some Companions harbored for one another, but what MacCready inferred hadn’t shown up on Piper’s radar.

“Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“MacCready, please? Look who you’re talking to. I can handle it.”

MacCready uttered a small whine of reluctance. “Well…she told me she loved me for one. And I gave her something treasured that I never should’ve given her. I thought we were going to be exclusive. We spent _one_ night together, and then I found out she’d…”

“Wait, you and…Blue?” The warmth expanded from Piper’s neck to her face. “When?”

“After she helped me with the Gunners.”

Piper’s chest compressed beneath a heavy weight. “She…hold on…she and I had just talked about maybe…and then you needed her help, so she…left.”

MacCready brought a hand to his face. “Damn it, Piper, I’m so sorry. I mean, darn it. I had no idea. I really shouldn’t have said anything.”

Piper’s throat tightened. “Who else?” she asked, voice trembling. When she saw the guilt plastered all over MacCready’s face, she nudged him again. “Come on…I said I could handle it.”

MacCready hemmed before spilling it off his tongue. “Cait says they confessed feelings, but nothing since then. Nora was with Curie _before_ the portal thing, but not after. That’s all I know. I really didn’t know you two had something.” He took a deep breath, steadying his words. “I’m telling you, Piper. She doesn’t know what she wants out of life. She’s not being ethical about it and it’s really fu—fricken upsetting. I mean, I’m over her now, feeling-wise…it’s been like two years. But she never apologized or even talked about it. We just stopped being together and that was it.”

That’s what had happened with Piper. They’d talked. And talked more. Nearly shared a kiss. But for months, nothing happened aside from some light flirtation. Piper had let Blue take the wheel, let Blue navigate their relationship. “Um.” Piper brought her hand to her forehead. “I think I need a minute.”

“You sure?” MacCready stood upright.

“Actually…” The weight turned into a vice and squeezed. “Actually, I need to tell you something, given everything.”

“About Nora?”

Piper shook her head. It felt like marbles shook back. “About Deacon.”

MacCready leaned again, avoiding her eyes. “It’s fine. I’ve tried everything to not like him, because logically I shouldn’t, but I do. I’ll get over it.”

“I don’t want to be with him either.”

He shrugged. “Well, if you did…don’t worry about me. I can handle it. It’s not like it’s reciprocated. I appreciate you being honest with me. More than I can say for _him_.”

She let out a small laugh. “I know, right?”

A brief smile played across his face. “Yeah. Listen, Piper. I’m not that guy anymore, mostly. If there’s anything positive about my relationship with Nora, it was her help with discovering that. I still believe in her vision and I still believe in the Companions.”

“We should change the name to something more independent.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He stood again, this time turning to exit. “I didn’t mean to just lay this all out on you, but thanks, Piper. If there’s anything else you need, just ask.”

“I asked you to. But yeah. Thanks, MacCready.”

He tipped his hat to her. “Anytime. I mean it.” He stepped outside, then leaned back into view. “Hey, do you think you’ll ever do a serial comic?”

She hadn’t given that much thought. “Get back to me on that.”

“Gotcha. Take care of yourself, Piper.”

“You too.”

She stared at her terminal while listening to his footsteps on the stairs. Blue. Could Piper really fault her for that? How was anyone supposed to predict how someone would handle the trauma of watching her husband get murdered, her kid getting kidnapped, her world getting nuked, then finding out she was frozen in time for two centuries?

But then again, why didn’t people just _talk_ to each other? Communicate openly and honestly? Sure, it was difficult at first, but weren’t the negatives exponential on the other side? Worse than a mere roadblock?

Piper heaved a sigh, releasing tears. She collapsed into her hands and wept. She was tired. She was sad. She was away from home. She needed her sister.

A soft voice prompted her to lift her head. “Piper?” It was Marcy, face drawn with worry. Upon seeing Piper’s embarrassing state, she came to her side and wrapped her in a warm embrace.

“I’m sorry, Marcy,” Piper said. “You shouldn’t have to see me like this.”

“Like what? Ugly crying?” Marcy rested her head against Piper’s. “We all ugly cry. Even me. It’s good for us. Gets the dirt off our faces.”

Piper wanted to chuckle, but sadness pushed the laughter down. “I have to go soon.”

Marcy shook her head. “No. The paper can wait.” She peeled a strand of tear-soaked hair away from Piper’s forehead. “You’re burning up, Piper.”

“Huh? What?”

“I think you have a fever.” Marcy released her from the hug and her behavior went clinical.   She felt Piper’s head again, then her cheeks, and looked her straight in the eyes. “When’s the last time you slept?”

“This morning, a little, I think.”

“On one of those _filthy_ beds?”

“It’s all they have.”

Marcy harumphed. “Wait here.” She poked her head out the door. “Robert Joseph MacCready, get your ass up here!”

MacCready jogged up the stairs. “What now?” he said, unseen in the hallway.

“Piper’s sick. Go get Doctor Grant. Make sure he brings herbs for Joanna. Can’t have her catching anything.”

“What about you?” Piper said of Marcy.

“I have an iron immune system,” Marcy said. “Thanks to Kyle.” She turned back to MacCready. “Go, go already!” She headed back into Piper’s office. “Have you been scarfing candy without Rad-X?”

“No,” said Piper. “Is everything okay with him being here?”

Marcy patted Piper’s shoulders impatiently. “Yes. He’s not a Gunner. Not at heart. Now stop trying to change the subject and get to bed.”

“What about Jun? I can’t just leave him in Tenpines.”

“Jun is fine, and we’ll figure the paper out later.” She picked her up. “Come on, Piper. Don’t drag your feet.”

“I can walk, Marcy.”

“Then walk to _bed_ , Piper.”

Piper wasn’t looking forward to being buried under a blanket. The rain outside seemed more appealing, but her bones did ache a little and maybe Marcy had a point. Piper reluctantly headed for her bedroom and let Marcy take care of her. It was nice to have a force of nature like her around at a time like this, at least for the next hour.

 


	9. 12.20.2290 WED - Politics

12.20.2290 WED - Politics

* * *

Piper handed Cait the message while Joanna, Marcy, and MacCready stacked newly printed papers on flatbed trolleys. Goodness, what Piper would give to smell all that freshly inked paper. If only those papers didn’t beat like drums when they plopped.

So much for returning to Tenpines. At least she had more time to investigate Scribble.

“I’ll get this to Jun, no problem,” Cait said. “I’m sure he’ll be fine without you for a while. Don’t take this for anythin’ other than a favor, though. Still don’t give a damn about the paper.”

“What can I expect you to ask for in return?” said Piper.

“Dunno yet. Maybe I’m doin’ this out of the goodness of my heart.”

MacCready chuckled.

“Hey, handsome, takes one to know one.”

MacCready shook his head and continued working.

“Goodness of your heart, huh?” Piper put a hand on her aching hip. Doctor Grant’s diagnosis of Weakness, Fatigue, Insomnia, and Lethargy sounded wholly colloquial and non-clinical, but damn if the terms weren’t accurate. She wondered what had become of that scientific convention. How had that story fallen off her radar? “Nothing to do with this pretty face?”

“A little, but the Longs were obviously good parents. Sort of tickles somethin’ in me.” She hugged Piper fondly. “Don’t go getting sicker. Never know when the next raid’ll hit.”

“Such a positive thinker,” Piper said. “Thanks. And thanks for doing this.”

Cait smirked and headed out into the rain.

“Alright, I need to take care of something,” Piper said, trying to rub the pain from her head. She put on her hat. _Ugh._ Too tight right now, but it was part of her look. “You have all the tarps for the carts ready?”

“Yes, Piper,” said Marcy. “Don’t worry. Just get back here without collapsing.”

“Yes, Marcy.”

“I mean it. You’re doing something stupid. You should be back in bed.”

“This is the one thing I have to do. I promise, I’ll go to sleep when I get back.”

Marcy grumbled.

The rain felt good until the chill latched onto her bones. She figured anyone who caught onto her illness might want to give her the information really fast just to get her out of there. She smiled at the thought, and hurried down the avenue toward the concrete beast the Minutemen called home. She stepped into the wood-walled lobby and dried her feet. It’d been a while since she and the other Companions had convened here. Not since Blue had returned from the portal. Were there no important decisions the General of the Minutemen needed counsel on?

She approached the person at the front desk. They’d surely seen their fair share of signatures. “Hey, Gio. Would you be able to help me?”

Gio put their elbows on the desk and folded their hands before leaning forward with a smile. “Sure, Piper.” They had the angular face and white complexion of a Capital Wasteland statue, and the thick, dark hair favored in pre-war advertisements for hair growth. Piper had worried one of the other Minutemen would be here waiting at reception, but with Gio on shift, her investigation would move swiftly.

“I’m trying to find out who signed off on this paper, but I can’t read their handwriting.” She pulled out the loaned document and passed it along, making sure to subtly point at the signature line. Small gestures like that often kept folks on track, and kept them from looking too far into her angle. “Any idea who this could be?”

Gio pursed their lips and studied the signature. They traced it with their finger and hemmed in disappointment, before their eyes widened with a eureka. “Justin Parish. This is absolutely his signature.” Gio returned the document.  

“Justin Parish?” Piper struggled to recall the name and face, but the alleged panacea Doctor Grant had administered had turned her mind into Far Harbor. “I know that name.”

“The guy you pulled a gun on.”

Piper stilled. Her usual reaction to such an annoyance would be some inflammatory comment and the gritting of teeth. Perhaps it was all those herbs and meds, but she had a hunch. Parish could’ve been behind the raid on Strong, if he was in a position to oversee work orders and make denials to requests. At the very least, he knew who _was_ behind it. Something was getting covered up, because no punishment had been delivered on behalf of Strong beyond a stern, directionless warning from Preston.

“He do something wrong, Piper?”

“Aside from being a Grade-A asshole?” Time to take a cue from Deacon. “No. It just means he probably won’t want to grant my request for ammo. Damn it. Is Preston in?”

“Lieutenant General Garvey should be in his office.” Gio flipped through a book. “I don’t show any appointments…”

But Piper was already heading down the hall, passing the conference room. She flew up the stairs, despite pleas from her stiff legs, and found Preston in his sparse, one-windowed office, twirling a pencil and whistling.

“Piper, hey. Come on in.” Preston’s hat and overcoat hung on a rack beside him. He gestured to the radstag leather chair. “You doing okay? You don’t look so good.”

“Just burning the candle at both ends.” She sat down and was met with the aroma of Preston’s coffee. “Bored?”

“Missing the days of patrolling the avenue and dealing directly with settlements. Place has gotten too big to manage that anymore.”

Well, that answered her first question. “Patrolling now might send the wrong message.”

“Yeah. It’s taken a while to warm up to Hancock, but we got there. Now I worry that the slightest thing will bring Goodneighbor to our door. That town is nothing if not prideful.”

“Ever figure out who was behind the raid?”

“You know I can’t share the details of our internal investigation.”

“So…no, then.”

Preston sighed.

Goodness, he was about to get walloped by the coming news. “I was wondering if you could talk more about Justin Parish. He’s one of yours, right?”

Preston scrutinized the question. “He’s the guy you pulled a gun on. Thanks for that, by the way. I’ve had one hell of a time dodging criticism. You should’ve been arrested.”

“Speaking of, we’re going to talk about the whole ‘Vault becoming a prison’ thing. Don’t think I haven’t forgotten about that.”

“Not my orders.”

“Blue’s?”

“You have to remember what she did in her former life. Law and order requires a system for criminal justice and a chance at rehabilitation.”

“But in a Vault? _Jeez_. Doesn’t that seem a little…authoritarian?”

“Not now, Piper. I told you, it wasn’t my call.”

She groaned. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but maybe some of you should talk to the folks in Diamond City about how to run a jail.”

“Maybe, but again, not my call.”

“Better to pass the blame than to take responsibility. Kind of insensitive to compare a loss of honor to actual situations of duress, don’t you think?”

“Piper…”

She ran her tongue along her teeth. What she wouldn’t give for a miracle cure in gumdrop form. “Right. So this Parish guy. What’s he do? Why’s his name on so many work orders?”

“Because that’s his job.”

“He handles _all_ the work orders?”

“Not all of them. There’s too many settlements for that anymore.” Preston leaned forward as Gio had earlier, but his eyes bore more skepticism than charm. “What’s this about, Piper? Tell me it’s not vengeance.”

“No. It’s about me trying to figure out why he only partially filled a request from Tenpines.”

“What do you mean, partially?”

“Here.” She passed him the work order.

“This is a scribble.”

“An anonymous source has confirmed that this scribble is Parish’s signature. Plus, if it’s _not_ his signature, then someone’s doing his job for him, with or without his or your knowledge. Is Tenpines under his charge?”

“Yes, but his name should be typed alongside this. Are you coming in here to harangue me over a clerical error?”

She sat back in the chair, happy her body hadn’t protested the movement. Either the panacea was working, or investigations had curative properties. Probably both. Not everything was an either/or situation. She revealed a folded newspaper from her coat and handed it to him.

He eyed her warily before taking it and scanning the paper. “This is out already, isn’t it.”

“Getting delivered as we speak.”

Preston rested the paper and itched the hairs on the back of his neck. “Fuck.”

“Tenpines said they sent multiple letters here regarding the situation. Any of those come across this desk?”

Preston puffed air through slack lips and lifted documents and other papers on his desk as proof. “Not a single one.” He returned to the article.

“Any initial thoughts on what to do?”

“No, actually.” He lifted the newspaper, but not his eyes. “Anything in here about Parish?”

“No. Were you and Blue actively ignoring these settlements?”

He refolded the paper. “I really don’t think I should be talking to you right now.”

“Not without your lawyer present?”

“Piper, please.”

Piper shrugged. “Okay. I can save you some work then. How about giving me access to any files Parish had his hands on? Or his personnel file. You keep those, don’t you?”

“I’m not going to let you publicly hang one of my soldiers.” The newspaper crinkled in his grip. “Work orders are filled based on supplies available and which settlements are in the most need. Without understanding the system, you can’t just accuse him of having a vendetta because _you_ have one of your own.”

“Have you been to Tenpines lately, Preston? Or have you just been sitting in this office twiddling your thumbs? Correction: _spinning your pencils_?”

Preston’s look soured, and he transformed from Preston Garvey, Companion and friend, to Preston Garvey, Lieutenant General of the Commonwealth Minutemen. “We’re done here, Piper. From now on, this building is on lockdown. You only come when invited for sessions of the small council.” He stood. “Leave, Piper. Don’t make me call for the guards.”

She stood, her palms pressing into his desk. “You’re throwing me out? Should’ve expected as much. I ask for information to help me understand Parish _before_ publishing to avoid wild speculation, and you make an assumption and toss me out. Right. Real cool, _Garvey_.”

He maintained his stony countenance. “I’m pretty certain you have no right to talk about the dangers of publishing gossip. Leave.”

She harumphed and left Garvey alone with his writing utensils.

She mustered up a polite wave for Gio on her way out. She walked briskly in the rain, passing by a market stall where semi-sheltered settlers unfolded the latest edition of _Publick Occurrences_. Parish’s name and face plastered itself all over her mind. Where had these misgivings been before?

Pulling a gun on him had been a mistake. Now she’d never be able to approach him directly, not without getting an earful of arrest threats and a year’s supply of nasty looks.

A small crowd of folks, many holding or passing along a copy of the paper, headed for the Goodneighbor Embassy with purpose. “What is this, a new tradition?” she muttered. She veered back to the office with a head-pounding jog, and entered with a declarative, “Get to the Embassy _now_!”

“Already on it,” said a rain-proofed Joanna, dashing out the door, her feet slapping against the water-logged mat. “Marcy’s still offloading with the provisioner. See you there!”

Two of their three empty trolleys had returned, and MacCready squeezed by Piper to catch up with Joanna. Piper gave the wide-open door left in their wake an approving shrug, then shut it. She left Marcy a hasty note before dashing out the door herself. It wasn’t until she arrived at the Embassy that she realized she’d left the office unlocked.

The scene at the Embassy had grown, and the people were less happy than they had been at the previous gathering. Cole Penny was no where in sight. Strong stood beside his shack, watching the crowd with disgust. The Neighborhood Watch warned the crowd to stay back.

Piper caught up to Joanna and MacCready. “MacCready, head back to my office and stay there. Don’t let anyone but Marcy in.”

“Got it.”

“What’s going on here?” Piper asked the first recognizable person. They shrugged, a sheep without a shepherd.

“Stay back, stay back! Sovereign property, here!” shouted a Neighborhood Watcher.

“Piper,” said Joanna, “you might want to head in there.”

Not if it meant having to pull a gun on another person. “The story’s out _here_.”

“Your _friend_ isn’t.”

Piper surveyed the scene, rocking on her heels to lock her sights on the vulnerable Embassy door. Someone nearby shouted the word “coup” and another shouted “traitor.”

She shot a look back at the reporter. “Don’t let me down, Joanna Dearborn.”

Joanna nodded as she latched onto a nearby conversation.

Piper pushed through the crowd, her momentary investigative high fading, her head dizzied by both illness and medication. “Piper Wright, Publick Occurrences,” she said almost breathlessly. Someone brushed her back; she checked her pockets. Nothing missing. Just some rude person angry with Hancock.

The Neighborhood Watch didn’t hear her at first. Piper repeated herself. One Watcher caught sight of her and waved her in.

The crowd didn’t like or understand that, though some gave shouts of support. She wondered if it were Joanna. Piper didn’t dare look back at the mess she’d caused. She knocked twice. “Hancock, it’s Piper. I’m coming in.” She opened the door, half-worrying he hadn’t heard her and that she was about to get a hot load of lead sprayed in her belly, but instead found Hancock looking through the wet bar behind the unattended reception desk.

“Deacon has it,” Piper said.

“That asshole.” Hancock turned around and dropped the frustration on his face. “You feelin’ okay, Pipes?”

“Apparently I’m sick and supposed to be resting.” She rubbed the ache in her neck.

“I’ve got something that can help with that.”

“I’m already pretty medicated, but thanks.”

“Not what I was suggesting, but alright. So, you here to bear witness to the opening shots of a war, or was it all about tattling on Deacon?”

“A little bit of both. They’re pissed, Hancock. What’s their deal? Something about a coup?”

“Seems they’ve decided to shed all connections to my little speech and hang me out to dry.” He nodded at a letter on the edge of the empty reception desk. “Go ahead.”

Piper picked it up.

_You’ll pay for interfering with us, glowbrains._

The anonymous sender wrote with a furious scrawl, in an ominous red that was definitely paint. Still, message received.

“What the hell?”

“I know. ‘Glowbrains.’ Hadn’t heard that one yet.”

“What the hell do they think you’re interfering with?”

“They think the Minutemen are a sovereign nation, and that I’m interfering with the politics of a sovereign nation. They ain’t wrong, if you think about it. Course that would mean the Minutemen would have to admit they’ve become a nation. But those folks ain’t really wrong.”

“Voicing your opinion on democracy is interfering? That’s a stretch. You can say what you want to say. It’s not like you’re committing fraud or assassinations or are directly attempting to influence the government.”

“Ain’t I? I’m on the small council.”

“You’re not paying to be there, and we’re not paid to be there either.”

“Well, tell that to the people out _there_.”

“They’re just afraid of getting blamed if Tenpines and Zimonja secede.”

“Yeah, survival instinct and all. You disregarding all orders of bed rest and heading back down there soon? Thinking I’ll tag along.”

“If you can even get out of here.” She pulled aside a ratty curtain and peered outside. “Minutemen are breaking it up.” The crowd reluctantly took a step back. From their ranks, a familiar hat and duster appeared. “Preston’s out there. _Ugh_ , so is Parish.”

“The guy you pulled your gun on?”

“You did too.”

He smiled. “Hell yeah I did. Looked terrified too, did you see him?” He settled on a bottle of vodka and poured two shots. He held one up to Piper, who declined it, then downed both shots himself.

“I really don’t think it was one of my better choices,” she said. “Do you regret how we handled that whole thing?”

“No, but only because it took everything I had not to pull the trigger. I ain’t exactly known for my patience when it comes to justice.” He set the shot glasses in his shiny, Vault-Tec sink. “But you, Pipes, yeah, I can see you regretting that. That ain’t you.”

“Isn’t it, now?” She studied a puddle pelted by rain. “I’m comfortable killing raiders, but like Deacon said to me…raiders weren’t born into that. Not all of them, at least. I don’t think they all make that choice lightly.”

“Not sure I agree with that, but it’s something to chew on.”

“Parish might not be a good guy, but maybe he _was_ just doing his job. Maybe he wasn’t certain about his own future if he _didn_ ’t comply.”

“That just makes him a coward.”

“Maybe…” She leaned her head against the window, seeking relief in the cool, rain-spattered pane. “I don’t know, Hancock.” Her breath clouded the window, and she wiped it away with the side of her palm. “Damn it, looks like Preston’s trying to get a meeting with you.”

Hancock joined her at the window with a growl. “Not really in the mood for a chat.”

“Especially because it’ll all be on the record.”

Hancock pulled away from the window, the smirk on his face telling of an idea. “You’re brilliant, Pipes.” He broke for the door.

“Whoa!” She nearly tripped over a standing lamp in her attempt to follow him. “You can’t just fly away like that!”

She caught the door before it closed and found the story in her charge unfolding. Rain didn’t deter a soul, it seemed; even stalls across the street had been prematurely closed by their vendors and were now empty.

Hancock raised his arms, garnering the attention of the rowdy crowd. “Friends, roamers, Minutemen, let’s have a little _chat_.”

Beside the renovated house, a wan figure came into view. Strong must’ve been lured closer by the familiar cadence of the Bard.

“Now now, I know you’re pissed off, and you _should_ be. Things are going to shit right now. Things are always going to shit, and for a brief second, we had this place and all its peace and it was damn well _blissful_. But it ain’t like that anymore, and I ain’t gonna pretend I didn’t let myself get carried away with the rest of you. We have reasons to be mad.

“So let’s get mad, hash it out, and make things better again. We got worse enemies than ourselves out there, and we need to make sure every one of our own is protected against them.” That roused some claps and “yeahs!” from the crowd. “That’s why I’m heading over to that conference in Tenpines tonight, as a show of solidarity. We ain’t called Goodneighbor for nothin’, and we ain’t gonna let our Minutemen friends keep hurtin’. You’ve got my word that the safety and concerns of the People are my highest priority.”

To the relief of Preston (and Piper), the crowd approved. Some appeared confused, probably the shepherd-less sheep from before, but the mollified folks remained and cheered while Hancock doled out friendly handshakes and patted Preston on the back.

Piper eyed Joanna, who smiled and nodded back at her. She remained with the crowd while Piper waited for Hancock to saunter back into the Embassy.

“Nice speech,” she said.

“And no standoffs. I’d call it a victory.” He shed his wet red coat and hat. “You still doin’ good?”

“Eh. A little, but it might be relief from the lack of violence.”

“I know the weight of guilt, Pipes. It ain’t an easy thing to carry.”

“Pulling a gun on him was a mistake.”

“Sad reality of our world, ain’t it? Maybe more and more folks’ll believe that as they read your paper.”

“I hope.”

Hancock returned to the wet bar. “Water? Hard-as-fuck liquor?”

“Water’s fine, thanks.” Hancock poured a tall glass of water for her and surprisingly, a tall glass of water for himself too. They sipped together, meandering back to the window to watch the fading crowd. Preston looked happy to be outside, despite his dislike of rain, and he chatted happily with his squad of soldiers. Parish had since disappeared.

“I could apologize,” she said.

“If that’s what you want to do.”

It was. She shouldn’t have reacted that way. She’d been better in the past about it. What she had done was something _Blue_ would’ve done. Sure, Blue didn’t do stuff like that _often_ , but she’d resorted to violence when diplomacy didn’t work.

“Nobody deserves to know how that feels,” Piper uttered. Hancock opened his arms and she leaned into his side embrace, surprised to hear his heart beat quick despite his collected demeanor. Even charismatic folks got nervous, she supposed, or perhaps it was the thrill of being in the spotlight.

Outside, Preston smiled at something someone said. He was right. She’d been motivated by vengeance, not curiosity. Nobody deserved to be at the barrel of a gun, not even those who signed up to face those barrels head on. Nobody deserved to know that feeling even once, let alone _twice_. That’s the type of thing that could scar a person.

Her head perked up. “I need someone I can trust to get a message to Nick and Nat,” she said.

“I’ll do it,” said Hancock immediately.

“I don’t want to ask that of you. As anxious as I am about what’s happening in Tenpines, it’s an important story. You probably _should_ be there, given everything.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He patted her arm. “You’ve got that fierce look in your eye, Pipes.”

“Fierce? Like ferocious?”

He flashed her a smile. “Like passionate. Your tenacity has more soul than plain old ferocity.”

She smiled and bounced on her heels. “Promise you’ll go straight to Tenpines and do what you need to do?”

“Promise.”

She released herself and passed him her water. “You’re okay with heading into Diamond City?” She whipped out her notebook and flipped to the first blank page.

“I’ve got my ways, don’t worry. I used to live there, remember.”

“Right.” Piper scrawled her first message down and hoped it looked better than Parish’s signature. “You know the first building on the left? That’s my place. You can’t miss it. Big sign on it.”

“I know the spot. You have the top bedroom or the bottom?”

She gave him a quizzical look, then briefly reread her note. “The top. Did Blue take you there once?”

“No, I lived in that house.”

She looked up from her notebook. “No shit.”

“Yes shit.” He smirked. “Well, before my brother became mayor and we moved into the stands. Didn’t grow up there though. Anyway, I know the place.”

“Oh my _god_ , I wonder if that’s why the Mayor hates me so much?”

“Well, if you’re right and he really was replaced? He has no idea. Makes alotta fuckin’ sense, if you ask me.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to dredge that up.” There. Message done and mostly legible. Nat had a talent for reading Piper’s handwriting anyway.

“Chat over drinks sometime, then. Real drinks. Your sis gonna freak out at this mug?”

“No. Just make sure to buy a paper or she won’t listen to you. Here, that one’s hers.” She waited impatiently for him to set down the drinks. “Get the other one to Nick or Ellie. You’ve met Ellie?” Hancock nodded. Piper slapped Nick’s note into his hand. “For their eyes only, got it? Don’t let anyone read them. And don’t die. Drop Nick’s name if you get caught.”

“I won’t get caught.” Hancock tucked the notes safely into a pocket on his blue formal coat. “Besides, you’re running outta people to trust around here. Can’t let your number-one ghoul go down and leave you hangin’.” He headed for a cabinet and stocked up on shotgun shells. “You sure you don’t want anything for the road?”

“I’m sure.”

“Then promise me you’ll at least take a nap before leaving. One hour. Your brain’ll thank you, trust me.”

“I can’t make that promise.” She gave him a hug before leaving. “Thanks, Hancock. See you there.”

“See ya, Pipes.”

 


	10. 12.21.2290 THURS - Actions, Words

12.21.2290 THURS - Actions, Words

* * *

Piper returned Jun’s work, along with her edits. “It’s great, Jun.” She stood from the mattress in their room and rifled through her bag for her medicine. She guzzled it down with water, a treacherous act according to her sweet tooth, but one she found ultimately made her feel better. Sleeping had helped too. Now it was the wait that bothered her. That, and the residual aches in her body.

“You look better…not that I mean you looked worse, only that you seem less weary than before.”

“I knew what you meant. Yeah, the doc’s good at what he does. It’s just the patient that needs some work. Can’t germs do their germ thing on a better schedule? Sheesh.”

Jun laughed at the joke and returned to his work. “Any idea what… _he_ will say when he gets here?”

“No,” said Piper. Given the important task Hancock was on, Piper found it best to let Hancock announce his own arrival. No sense getting the conference riled up for something that had a small chance of not happening. “Jun, there’s a chance that this whole thing’ll go south for us. Literally.”

Jun’s eyes dipped in concern. “What do you mean?”

“I mean quite literally, we might have to move our base of operations back to Diamond City. Meaning we lose that nice press Sturges made, the new terminals, and…possibly reporters.”

Jun set down his pencil. “Oh…”

“I’m not asking you to make a choice. I mean, I’d like you to choose to come with me, but I understand why you wouldn’t.”

“There is no choice. We would go with you.”

“But why? And what about what Marcy thinks?”

“Marcy never really settled in to Sanctuary, and she never liked farming. Knowing you has opened up this world of creativity for her, for both of us. Since…since he died…”

She put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry Jun. You don’t have to talk about that.”

“I…I want to, some time.”

“We will then, some time.”

He shook it off. He’d gotten a lot better at that since joining the paper, but Piper wasn’t sure if it were all that healthy. “Regardless,” he continued, “I think we’d move. She wouldn’t do it just for my benefit. It’d be a joint decision. We’d go.”

Piper rapped the end of her pen on the edge of the mattress. “I’d like to bring along Joanna, too.”

“She’s done great work so far.”

Piper released a drawn out sigh of disappointment. “I just don’t want to lose all those distribution lines. Blue’s relay system has been a boon to us.”

Jun settled into his seat, resting his back against the wall so that he fully faced her. “Piper, why are you so worried? Do you think she’ll really punish you for publishing all of this?”

“I don’t know.” She flopped backwards onto the mattress. At Marcy’s insistence, she brought along an extra blanket to cover it. Now, the fuzzy fabric protected her ear and cheek from the mattress’ rough and dirty topside. “I’ve been wondering if she only used me to help her find Shaun.”

“Absolutely not,” Jun said without hesitation. “She built that office for you, because she believes in _you_.”

“Because I made her look good in the paper.”

“Because she loves you,” Jun corrected. “She gave you a terminal and invested in your future. You two might be at odds now, but that’s how family works.”

“I didn’t want to be her family, Jun.”

“But that’s where you are. I’ve known Nora for a long time, and she didn’t have to help us to save her son. If anything, we delayed her from finding him. She’s just not very good at…romantic relationships. That’s on her. But she’s never let spats between friends get in the way of what’s important. You’ve seen the deeds she’s forgiven. Publishing this isn’t going to change that.”

“But if she doesn’t apologize…?”

“Maybe she will, but she doesn’t know how. Just know that _your_ story won’t end if she doesn’t.”

Piper stared at the ceiling above, a bricolage of metals, woods, and plastics, and listened to the radio playing down the hall. Travis spoke of Blue’s latest exploits, unverified gossip coupled with speculative questions, before introducing the next tune. With a platform as popular and as far reaching as the radio, couldn’t he try just a little harder?

What _was_ Piper’s story, anyway?

“Believe it or not, Jun, you’re not the first person to say that to me.” She folded her hands on her stomach. “Nick said something like that to me once too, back when Blue was missing.”

“I hope someday you believe us.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Me too.”

Whoever’d been listening to the radio silenced it. Piper hated that song anyway, and the quiet unearthed a commotion of shouts and yells, indiscernible in meaning, and coming from what sounded like the perimeter of the settlement. Piper and Jun shared a look and grabbed their notebooks and jackets—and Piper’s 10mm—before rushing off to see what the chilly night had brought in.

She found a still-disguised Deacon amongst the guards at the hill, sharing a smoke with Malik. She glared at Deacon, and immediately hated him and those damned sunglasses for the emotions they hid. Well, she didn’t need a return glare anyway. It was enough to know that no one was called to arms, which could only mean someone special had arrived.

Hancock.

The mayor flashed a smile at Piper upon surmounting the incline, and found himself in step with a collection of admirers. She and Jun followed closely behind them, watching as Samira Amer and other keynote speakers greeted him.

“You know what we need, Jun?” Piper said as they flanked the crowd, gravel and twigs crunching underfoot as they entered the campsite.

“What’s that?”

“A functioning camera and film lab.”

“I’ll look into the costs of that.”

“Aaaaaaand some way of reprinting them.”

He grinned. “That might be a little harder.”

“Wouldn’t that be perfect right now?” Piper gazed at the mayor. Hancock’s dark eyes twinkled and scrunched and widened. His long coat wavered in the breeze, the buttons glistening in the campfires around him. He listened intently to everyone who spoke to him, meeting each of their eyes, nodding and responding without interrupting. That’s what set him aside as a leader; he truly cared and he truly listened. The only lie he ever told was about his name, and even then, maybe he wasn’t that guy anymore anyway. Hancock was his truth, and that truth could be captured on film.

She needed to interview him.

“Time to get to work,” she said to Jun. “Mayor Hancock!” Piper flagged him down.

His head lifted from his conversation. He apologized to the person he spoke to with a promise to get back to them, and welcomed Piper to the circle that had formed around him.

“Piper Wright. Looking better already.”

“How about an interview, Mr. Mayor?”

“An interview, huh?” He grinned and winked at those surrounding him, who offered their approval of such a process. “How can I refuse?”

“Mayor Hancock?” A settler stepped forward. “That tent I told you about is getting set up right now. You can do the interview in there.”

“Thanks—Ernie, was it?” The settler nodded. Hancock bowed his head. “Thanks Ernie. I appreciate that.”

“This way, please.”

“You already snagged yourself a place to stay?” Piper whispered.

“Seems so,” Hancock replied. “Everything’s done. That sister of yours is sharp. You know how many papers she got me to buy?”

“Three.”

“You’re lowballing, Pipes. Let’s just say Takahashi’ll be giving away a free paper with every purchase for a while.”

Piper cackled and blew hot air on her fingers. She’d need to write quick with a guy like Hancock. She jotted down a note to check on the cost of holotapes. Maybe Sturges or Ada would be able to manufacture new ones.

While settlers insisted Hancock not assist with the setup of his own tent, one not unlike the one Deacon had acquired, other settlers regaled him with stories of their own suffering and othering, and the occasional hilarious, endearing tale. Across the camp, Piper suspected, Jun gathered more of these stories too. Deacon kept his distance, bouncing between groups that never quite intersected with those she and Hancock traveled into. She caught Cait lingering with a group of guards, laughing and acting out fight moves.

“It’s getting late, Pipes,” said Hancock, holding the flap of the finished tent back and inviting her in. “You sure you wanna do this now?”

“Yeah, let’s do this.”

It was homey, for a tent. Complete with a sleeping bag, an extra blanket, two empty, overturned crates, and a lantern. Hancock had been sure to pay those who donated their extra items.

“A seat, miss?” He smiled and offered her a crate.

“Why thank you, Mr. Mayor.”

He unloaded his bag. The most recognizable items outside of necessities and ammo were Mentats, another blanket, and a bottle of bourbon. The last item was a ball of newspaper that looked a lot like Tuesday’s special edition of _Publick Occurrences_.

“Goodness, you think the article was that bad?”

“It’s not what you think, but let’s get to the interview first.” He pulled up the other crate and made himself comfortable, leaning forward with his elbows resting casually on his knees. “Lay it on me, Pipes.”

“Why is this conference important to you?”

“Because what’s happenin’ here ain’t right.”

“Could you elaborate?”

“People are suffering after being promised they wouldn’t. I wanted to show them I share their vision for a better world, but I also gotta make it clear that I ain’t gonna take sides in this. Diplomacy shit, and all. Maybe clear some things up about how I became mayor down in Goodneighbor.”

“How did you become mayor?”

“Well it wasn’t by election, I’ll tell you that much. I stay in power because they want me there, and I never want to get too comfortable with it.”

“So if the people of Goodneighbor so desired…”

“Then I’d let it happen. It’s my job to let ’em know they’re safe and equal. Can’t go preaching equality if I ain’t ready to relinquish my post when asked.”

“What drew you to Goodneighbor?”

“It’s the anti-Jewel. Some mayors think the only way to polish somethin’ is to define what ain’t shiny. I figure too much shine means somethin’ is lackin’. And anyone who’d exploit the suffering of others for political gain is a piece of shit. Can’t polish shit.”

Piper took a giggle break. “You really hate him that much?”

“That on the record?”

She put her pen down. “Nope.”

“Lately I don’t think I hate him so much. I’ve been thinking about that story you did.”

“I could’ve been more tactful about it…” She sighed. “Someone was killed.”

He reached for her hand. “I’m serious, try not to carry all that guilt, Pipes. I’m telling you, that shit gets too heavy.”

“Forget about it. Continue.”

“I think I still love him. The change was drastic. One day, he was…well, a piece of shit, for a brother. The next…a monster.”

“Talk to him sometime, maybe?”

“And let the Institute get wise to our connection? Nah. Shit, maybe they already know. But I won’t let ’em think me or Goodneighbor can get used in one of their games. If they did switch him, where the hell is he? Dead? Rotting in a cell somewhere, barely holdin’ on to sanity? And if they did, do I have them to thank for this mug? Ain’t a road I wanna consider. Not ready for that yet.”

She squeezed his hand. “That’s fine. Besides, we were supposed to involve drinks for all this, remember?”

He snorted. “Heh, how could I forget a standing date like that?”

She let go and picked up her pen. “Have any words for the Minutemen settlements?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Be yourself. It scares the shit out of those in charge.”

She chuckled and wrote that down, underscoring it thrice before turning her grin from paper to mayor. “I like it, Hancock. Very fitting.”

“I like it too,” said Deacon, appearing at the tent flaps. “Not really my style, but I like it. Interview over, or am I too early?”

Piper and Hancock shared a fond nod. “Yeah,” she said. “Interview over. For now.”

“Good,” Deacon said. “Mind if I join you? Found this killer bottle of booze and figured it needed drinking.” He produced the shiny bottle of whiskey he’d stolen from Hancock. Over half the bottle remained.

“You sneaky bastard,” said Hancock. “Bring that shit over here.”

“Okay,” Piper said, standing. Maybe Deacon were about to apologize. She’d give him the benefit of the doubt this once, but _only_ once. “If we’re about to get hammered, I’m going to seek out some food. Don’t start without me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Hancock.

“Maybe snag one of those colas if you can,” Deacon suggested.

“ _Obviously_.”

In the camp, those who didn’t retire to their tents either stood watch, or cooked night-owl meals. It was a lot of bloatfly. Some visitors had their own quiet booze parties, or cozied with lovers. Cait was still chatting with the soldiers. Piper found Jun sitting with Samira, but he took momentary leave of their conversation to catch up with Piper.

“We’re going into the last half of this, Jun. It’s pretty exciting.”

“I know!” Sleep pulled at Jun’s eyes, but so did a love of his work. “I’ve been writing Marcy a letter all night. Would you take it with you on your next run back?”

“Of course,” she said. “How’re the people?”

“They’re so kind, and generous. I think when this is through, I’ll do another story on Miss Amer. She’s incredible, Piper, not for having put this burden on her shoulders, but for the little things. She was just telling me about a scoped rifle she’d been given by her mother as a child, and how she practiced every day to hunt. I’m telling you, she’d give MacCready a run for his caps.”

“That alone tells me you need to write that. Approved.” Her stomach rumbled, and the cold made her nose start to run. She sniffled a mix of snot and campfire smoke. “Hey, speaking of generosity, know of anyone with some spare starch for say…three people with two bottles of hard liquor? I’d invite you, but you’re not a big fan of whiskey.”

Jun laughed. “Honestly, I’ll be fine right where I am tonight. Head back to the room. I bought a ton of potato crisps and snack cakes from today’s caravan. Take whatever you need.”

“Thanks, Jun.” She gave him a quick hug. “I owe you.”

“I’m not running a tab.”

She returned to the tent with a sack full of goodies and precisely one Nuka-Cola. Hancock and Deacon played cards across a gap filled with a whopping two caps.

“Betting and booze sounds like a bad idea,” she said. She doled out the snacks, but pulled away before Deacon could grab anything. “It needs to be sincere.”

He repositioned himself on the crate that had previously been hers. He removed his sunglasses and looked her in the eye. “I’m sorry for being insensitive, Piper. What I did was wrong. Really wrong. It was a mistake then, and it was a mistake to recall it so casually and without remorse.”

“And you will always do what you can to make up for it and make sure no one else makes the same mistake.”

“Always.”

Hancock gave the apology a perplexed look.

“And?” said Piper.

“I need to be mindful about my disguises, and consider what the subtext of wearing those disguises means.” Just as Piper was about to scold him for his stiff tone, he leaned forward and sighed that insincerity away. “Piper, I don’t want to be that guy, and despite all the bullshit I sling everyone’s way, calling me out when that bullshit is _tearing up_ the bigger picture instead of _protecting_ it? I appreciate that.”

She scanned his eyes and reflected on his tone. This was a start. He needed to back up those words with actions—and not at his convenience, either—but this was a start. “I believe you,” she said, and she held out a tube of potato crisps.

“Ooh, no, leave those off,” said Hancock as Deacon reached for his sunglasses. “Who knew you were so damn sexy under those shades?”

“You should see the rest of me,” Deacon said.

Hancock snorted. “Kinda think I just did. Someone tell MacCready he’s got a little competition.”

Deacon turned to Piper with a betrayed look. “He knows too?”

“The whole damn Commonwealth knows,” Hancock said, shuffling a new round. “You in, Pipes?”

She popped the cap off her Nuka-Cola and dropped it in the patch of dirt with the other two. “I’m in.”

* * *

12.22.2290 FRI

No amount of body heat or sleeping bags could warm the ground beneath them. Only the sun could achieve such a feat, but from the look of the soft light through the flaps of the tent, the sun was as sleepy as Piper felt. Her heavy coat/temporary blanket had fallen to her ankles, along with the actual blanket they had tried to share. The chill on her face ran down her neck, stopping at the warmth of Deacon’s head. Great. Moving would wake him. Keeping Hancock sound asleep would be more of a challenge. He had chosen her abdomen as a pillow and her right hand as additional cushioning. This was definitely not the way they’d fallen asleep.

Despite the curse of alcohol and night dulling their wakefulness, they’d only tapped the shiny bottle dry, and barely mixed it with cola. At her and Deacon’s feet—not Hancock’s, since he was almost perpendicular to them—two empty potato crisp tubes sat stuffed with empty wrappers and crinkled boxes. One of them must’ve kicked the deck of cards in their sleep, for they were scattered in a fan shape near the refuse, some overturned.

Early morning. A provisioner would arrive soon, if Piper weren’t terribly off on her estimation of time. Nat and Nick knew how to respond to the messages. No one would understand their replies if they were intercepted. If they’d even found anything by now. Piper had to hope.

The Nuka-Cola, probably flat but still technically viable as a drink, sat opened on one of the crates. That was her first stop, if she could figure out how to politely get up without alarming her friends.

When had _that_ happened?

How strange and a little amusing that the reporter awoke between two people so opposite in method. One seemed to be Truth Incarnate; the other Lies. Perhaps Fiction were a better noun in this instance, because fiction did not always mislead for the sake of deception. There was a lot of truth in fiction, and that truth connected people to parts of themselves they’d never known before. Both men were facets of Fiction. To some degree, so was Piper.

She yawned silently, letting her muscles talk to each other. Doctor Grant’s remedies had worked faster than she’d originally thought. No wonder Blue always tried to get her supplements from him, unless she was in a pinch.

She slithered one hand out from under someone, then gently tapped the hand Deacon had on her hip. Nothing. She tapped again, and he responded with a soft press and a stubborn roll of his head on her back.

“I don’t wanna go to school today,” he muttered, muffled by her shirt.

She tapped his hand again. “Come on, Deacon,” she said with a soft whisper.

He uttered a drowsy groan and turned on his back. Now it was time to move Hancock. She slipped her hand under the base of his neck and lifted herself slightly. There. Now she could slide into a sitting position and leave him be. The cool morning air gave her an abrupt greeting when she did.

“Cold,” Deacon complained quietly.

She reached for the blanket and lay it back over him, giving her the opportunity to snag her coat. She set Hancock down where she once lay.

“You leavin’, Pipes?” Hancock said, groggy.

“I have work to do.” She hand-combed her hair.

“You do what you gotta.” He sat up, rubbing his head, then pulled his red overcoat up into his lap. “You leavin’ before or after my speech?”

“Almost immediately after.” She reached for the Nuka-Cola and sipped it. Flat, but tasty, and it removed the stale morning from her mouth. She offered some to Hancock, and he accepted.

A sleepy sigh escaped his lips. “Hang on a sec.” He stretched his arms and leaned until he could reach the ball of newspaper he had amongst his things. “This is for you.”

She took it, and found it slightly heavier than anticipated. “A gift?”

“Yeah,” Hancock said, while Deacon rolled on his side to observe. “Open it.”

She turned it in her hands until she found an edge, then peeled back the paper. Inside sat a flat, gilded circle encompassing a bugler and their bugle. Golden tassels dangled beneath them, and a keychain extended from the top of the circle. It was the Boston Bugle’s logo. She beamed at him. “How did you find one with the tassels still attached?”

“I’ve been checking every stall, caravan, and abandoned loot pile for the past few months. Spotted this one on Cronin’s hip and convinced him to sell it to me. Said it belonged to one of their sportswriters back then.”

She carefully flicked the tassels. “This is incredible, Hancock. I don’t know what to say other than thank you.”

“You don’t even have to say that, Pipes.”

Warmed by the thoughtful gesture, she rewrapped the gift and tucked it into her pocket before standing for her farewell. “Well, sorry for waking you guys, but I’ve gotta go on a stakeout for a provisioner, soooo…see you in a bit. Don’t sleep in too late.”

Hancock shrugged on his coat. “Later, Pipes.”

“See you around like a…jelly-filled breakfast treat,” said Deacon.

Hancock shivered a little. He nodded at the blanket. “Say, you cool to heat up a ghoul?”

Deacon lifted the blanket. “Bring it in, Mr. Mayor.” His brows raised in realization, and he quickly added, “Uh, that is, if you don’t mind sharing a blanket with an asshole who—”

Hancock sidled beneath the blanket. “I ain’t stupid. I got the gist of it last night, but I ain’t the one who’s gonna absolve you. Now let’s shake this chill and get some sleep.”

Deacon nodded. “Yeah, yeah, good plan.”

Piper put on her cap. “Bye guys.”

She exited the tent to find the settlement sitting just above a morning fog. Small swirls of white nestled behind boulders and in small depressions, but most of it filled the lower elevations of the Commonwealth. She could see the guards at the main entrance, and the morning campfire by the founding shack, but only treetops could be seen beyond. She wove her way between early risers and the family of delicious sauce makers, who were cooking a large breakfast of (probably) bloatfly, then introduced herself to the guards on the dawn shift.

“No provisioners in yet,” one said. “Want us to find you when they show?”

“No, I’ll wait,” Piper said. “Mind if I smoke?”

“Got an extra?”

The two shared a smoke break until a figure sans pack brahmin emerged from the fog. Guards cautiously took position, no fingers on triggers, but barrels raised. As the figure drew nearer, Piper smiled.

“It’s Nick Valentine.”

The guards eased and Piper ran down to greet him with a hug. His cold jacket smelled of Diamond City, that strange melange of noodle broth, cigarettes, and rusting metal.

“Nick! You didn’t have to come yourself.”

“Morning, Piper.” He smiled, his broken synthetic skin wrinkling at the edges. “Nat and I have been doing a little digging. You and Jun ready to have your minds blown, or should we scrounge up some coffee first?”

She bounced on her heels and smirked, grabbing his skeletal metal hand. “Forget the coffee.” She hauled him up the hill. “Let’s get Jun and report some news.”

 


	11. 12.23.2290 SAT - The Ethics of Scandal

12.23.2290 SAT - The Ethics of Scandal

* * *

CONSPIRACY TO DESTROY MINUTEMEN UNCOVERED, CORRUPT SOLDIER ARRESTED

by Piper Wright

Justin Parish, previously known as Riley Hannigan, was arrested Sunday for orchestrating a plot to dismantle and discredit the Minutemen. Parish forged documents ordering the controversial raid against Strong, a super mutant citizen of Sanctuary, earlier this month. The falsified orders appeared to come from Minutemen Lieutenant General Preston Garvey, who launched an internal investigation upon discovering the forgery.

Parish’s conspiracy extended beyond the raid. His signature appeared on multiple denials of orders for supplies and work in the northern Commonwealth, including orders made by Tenpines Bluff and Outpost Zimonja, the two settlements currently considering secession based on lack of vital help. Handwriting samples analyzed by Ada, an analytical scientist living in Sanctuary, and Detective Nick Valentine of Diamond City, heavily suggest the forged raid orders and denials originated from the same hand. Amongst studied writing samples were the forged raid orders, work order denials, inter-office memorandums, and a threatening letter received by Goodneighbor Mayor Hancock earlier this week. Ada and Valentine determined that the letter, written anonymously, was not written by Parish’s hand. The sender’s identity remains unknown.

Parish lived in Diamond City as Riley Hannigan, until 2287, when his brother Kyle publicly accused him of being a synth just outside of the Power Noodles restaurant. Kyle drew a gun on his brother and threatened to shoot. After a tense stand-off, Diamond City security shot and killed Kyle. Weeks later, Riley left Diamond City. Witnesses claim Riley visited the now-deceased Dr. Crocker, former facial reconstruction surgeon at Mega Surgery Center in Diamond City. Dr. Sun, Mega Surgery’s current head doctor and facial surgeon, could only confirm Riley was a patient, but was unable to reveal private details to maintain patient privacy. Former patients of Crocker, who wished to remain anonymous, have reported that Crocker’s work suffered toward the end of his career, and many have small scars from their procedures. While Justin Parish bears a surgical scar on his face, the source of Parish’s scar remains unknown at this time.

* * *

Preston set down the article on his desk. “You’re expecting an arrest?”

Piper nodded. “The evidence is compelling, isn’t it? Figured I would work an arrest in there since you were going to do it anyway.”

“Tell me this isn’t printing already.”

“No,” said Piper. “I still need the why, and some pieces of the how. This is just a first draft.”

Preston rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Piper, I don’t know how you managed to convince them to let you in here, but I’m glad you did. A lot of this makes sense with what we found during our own investigation, but we still couldn’t pinpoint who was responsible.”

“Am I forgiven, then?”

“Yeah, you’re forgiven.” His smile was brief. He stood and stared at his hat for a moment, as if recognizing it represented the difficult task he was faced with. He stepped into the small ray of sunshine spilling through the single window in his office, and donned his signature garb. “Well, time to get this over with. Don’t follow too close. Don’t want you to get shot.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got a layer of ballistic weave on.”

“One of Nora’s better ideas.”

Piper wondered if Preston had been burned by her too.

She followed him, waiting as patiently as she could while he collected a trusted squad. Parish was on patrol duty along the waterfront, and became skittish when he noticed an entourage of Minutemen, flanked by Piper, heading his way. Piper wished for a moment of telepathy, so he could hear her plea not to run. She suspected his colleagues’ minds echoed the same plea.

With a nod, Preston’s squad surrounded him. Parish raised his gun a mite, but Preston was more intimidating, and Parish quickly gave up without a shot being fired. Myra, one of Preston’s most trusted soldiers, clicked a set of handcuffs around Parish’s wrists.

“Justin Parish,” Preston declared, “you are under arrest for treason, conspiracy, and fraud. Anything you’d like to say for yourself?”

“Whatever she told you, she’s lying,” Parish said, scowling at Piper. “That’s what she does.”

“I have evidence, Riley,” she said. His eyes turned away from her. “And soon everyone’s going to know that evidence.”

“So they can stand by and watch me get tossed in jail?” He glanced around; a crowd had started on the mutfruit-peppered hill, but most kept their distance. “Typical. People always just stand by and _watch_. Gossip is just entertainment to them. The General, _all of you_ , deserve this. I hope those settlements secede. _I’ll_ be the one watching while the Minutemen fall again.”

“Gonna be tough to watch anything from a cell,” Preston said.

Piper shook her head. “Wait, you’re mad at the Minutemen for what happened to your brother? I’m sorry the people in Diamond City got fired up over my article, Riley, but Diamond City Security shot Kyle, who by the way, pulled a gun on you in the first place.”

Parish’s laugh held anger and frustration. He shook his head and writhed in his cuffs. “No, Security opened fire on my brother, but it was _her_ bullet that killed him. _She_ pulled the trigger first.”

“Who?”

“The General. She was there, in that stupid blue Vault suit. Even as a rookie Vault Dweller, she thought she held the hammer to dispense Commonwealth justice. And you’re right, Piper. _You’re_ the one who started it all. _You’re_ the reason my own brother pulled a gun on me. _You’re_ the one who killed him, with that stupid article and your ridiculous paper.” He spat at her. “I hope I see you in Hell, Piper. Preston should’ve arrested you when he had the chance. There’s a cell in that Vault with your name on it, _right next to mine_.”

“Enough,” said Preston. “Get him out of my sight.”

Piper grimaced and swallowed. It was her irresponsibility that had started this all, hadn’t it? Even this past month, words written under her charge had fueled wildfires that threatened to destroy all that had been built. She’d endeavored to do better since Kyle Hannigan’s death. She’d gobbled up what pre-war knowledge she could on journalistic integrity, on writing objectively, and still, this.

But Piper wouldn’t take responsibility for Riley’s vengeance. All she could do was forge forward, hold herself and _Publick Occurrences_ to higher and higher standards. Help people not only access information, but learn how to ethically process it and responsibly act upon it. She had to keep people from reaching for their guns. She had to make it safe for them to raise their voices and demand change. She was on the right path.

So long as she never forgot where that path began.

“You alright, Piper?” said Preston.

“Yeah,” she said, exhaling a deeply held breath. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I have a story to publish.”

“And I have an apology to make.”

“To Tenpines and Zimonja?”

“No, to Strong.” He cast his eyes over the water, its waves sparkling in the midday light. “How’re those folks _really_ doing? Is it is bad as it seems?”

“Why don’t you ask them yourself?”

He laughed softly. “The General’s already on it. She left early this morning.”

Piper smiled weakly. Blue must have left right after Piper got in. “Glad to hear it.”

“Well,” Preston let out another sigh, “guess I oughta get to it. See you around, Piper.”

Piper stopped him. “Preston, I’m not going to forget about that prison. It can’t be in a Vault. Too many things could go wrong down there. Don’t let your feelings for her get in the way of stopping that.”

Preston blushed. “Who said I had feelings for her?”

Piper let it sit. “Let’s get a drink sometime soon and talk about it.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

They waved to each other, and Piper headed up the hill, eager to finish her article.


	12. Epilogue

Epilogue

* * *

MINUTEMEN ATTEND DEMOCRATIC CONFERENCE, CONSIDER GOVERNMENTAL RESTRUCTURE

by Jun Long

Minutemen representatives, including General Nora, arrived at the week-long conference in Tenpines Bluffs late Saturday morning. General Nora was briefed on all previous talks, as well as the recent arrest of Justin Parish, who had deprived Tenpines Bluff and Outpost Zimonja of necessary supplies. On Sunday, General Nora announced her tentative acceptance of the terms to conference attendees.

The remaining day of the conference will be spent discussing methods of transitioning smoothly from a military government to one more democratic in nature, with promises to stay additional days if required. Goodneighbor Mayor and surprise conference attendee, John Hancock, will act as a third-party consultant between the General and conference organizer, Samira Amer of Tenpines Bluff.

“This has been the best possible outcome we could imagine thus far,” said Amer. “We consider this a natural evolution of the Minutemen. The General’s affable nature and acceptance of this evolution helped us avoid a full-scale revolution.”

When asked about protections in place to ensure the safety of settlements during such a vulnerable transition, General Nora said, “Members of my small council and fully vetted members of the Minutemen are providing additional security at every allied settlement. Although we do not anticipate any more standoffs between citizens and law enforcement, arms and armor will be given out to local forces as a sign of solidarity. Minutemen and local forces will work together. Members of the small council are there to ensure each force has equal say and authority while the transition occurs. Our top priority is keeping our settlements safe from raiders and others who would take advantage of such a momentous occasion.”

Although no specific date has been reached yet, both Amer and the General have agreed that any restructuring must have solid transition dates. The parties have also contracted _Publick Occurrences_ to print and circulate all related documents, including the final constitution, free of charge. Several copies of these documents will be kept on file at every settlement. Each settlement will be invited to sign and enact the final constitution.

“It may take us a year to do this,” said Amer. “We don’t know yet. We’re bringing in experts across the Commonwealth to talk with us.” Amongst those experts are scientists, who will be attending a conference of their own in January. “Such insight will help us when considering public welfare,” said Amer.

Attendees worried of an interruption in normal services when the transition does occur. “Provisioner relays will still function,” said the General. “Food and water distribution are not connected to military services and justice. Taxes on caps earned by citizens will continue to be collected at current rates. Scavenging operations for settlements will continue. Citizens will maintain all private ownership they currently have, and ‘rent-to-own’ contracts with the Minutemen will not be voided.”

The General has not considered contacting other post-war governments about the official establishment of a Minutemen nation. “The reach of those governments currently has no bearing on us. Perhaps someday in the future, we can collectively consider the benefits and ramifications of honoring pre-war borders. Until then, the well-being and security of Minutemen settlements and citizens are paramount to all other concerns.”

* * *

 12.31.2290 MON

BT turned up Diamond City Radio before serving Piper’s table. Jun, Marcy, and Joanna dug into their plates immediately, but Piper stared at her radstag steak, yearning for that delicious sauce she had in Tenpines.

“How long until more people start selling prepared food again?” she wondered aloud.

“This _is_ prepared food, Piper,” said Marcy.

“No, I mean to sell at the market. Boxed tato crisps. Jars of dipping sauce.”

“You’re dreaming of the Williams’ sauce again?” said Jun.

Piper’s shoulders and features sank dramatically. Her eyes settled on the dancing flame of their table’s candle. “It was one of the best things I’ve ever tasted.”

“I heard that,” said BT from another table.

“Consider it a tip on an investment opportunity.”

Cole Penny, recently welcomed back into Barname, shrunk in his seat and gave Piper a doleful look. Democracy had spread in Sanctuary already, and a vote had been taken on the move of Barname to the Goodneighbor Embassy. The people had spoken: the move was scheduled. At least it allowed Cole and BT to revisit the idea of collaborating on a Sanctuary-based brew.

“Do you think the prices of Rad-X and RadAway would go up if more rad-free food were available on the market?” asked Joanna. Goodness, she was a good reporter. She had an affinity for stories on the markets, caps, the economy. Piper had a book on pre-war economics hidden in her bedroom, waiting for the arrival of Joanna’s nearing birthday.

“It might,” said Piper. “Or would it make it worthless?”

“I think it would go up. With fewer people buying it for everyday use, only adventurers and provisioners would need it. Fewer units sold means lost profits for those selling it. Imagine turning around and making a profit off military organizations who’d want to keep it around? The Brotherhood? The Minutemen? Hell, Gunners?”

Piper smiled at her and dug into the radstag. “Sounds like something to keep an eye…on.”

Blue. She looked better than last time, in both mood and appearance.

“Be right back.” Piper set down her utensils and caught up with Blue, who eyed her warily before giving into the smile tugging at her cheeks.

“Piper.”

“Got a minute?”

Blue nodded. “Sure.” She waved down BT and pointed to a storage room, asking for silent permission to use it. BT nodded and the two made their way to the private location.

“I’m sorry, Piper. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

“Yeah, well, you kind of had a point.”

“Not really.”

“This isn’t really about that, though, Blue…”

“What is it?”

Piper leaned against the sturdiest looking stack of boxes and recalled the speech she’d practiced in her head all morning. “It’s about us.” She waited for any sign from Blue that she should stop. Blue gave her all the attention in the world, and indicated to continue. “You and I have been doing this dance for a while. I’ve been here by your side for three years. I was here before you had a small council. Before you met…MacCready.”

Blue maintained eye contact, but her face showed guilt and pain. “Ah.”

“I’m not saying I was expecting anything exclusive, but I kind of figured that confessing we loved each other might’ve made us closer. But you’ve, uh, you’ve kinda just taken us in and dumped us one by one. I want you to stop. You can’t do that to us, Blue. If you need…more than one of us, you need to be honest about that. Right now, you’re lying to all of us, and worse, you’re lying to yourself.”

Blue chewed on the inside of her cheek before crossing her arms and leaning back on a bare spot of the wall. “Piper…you’re right. All of that was wrong. I wasn’t lying, not on purpose, or trying to use any of you. It’s just…when I was with Nate, sometimes I…fell for others. But I never moved forward or made my feelings known. Turns out this world is more okay with that. In mine, it was still a struggle. So I don’t know how to navigate this. There are no networks to turn to. I can’t just find people like me or books on who I am.”

“But that is…who you are?”

“Is that alright with you?”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s alright with me. What matters is that you’re honest with the people you care about.”

Blue’s voice quaked. “I don’t want any of you to leave me.”

“Oh, Blue, no. We’re not going to _leave_ you.”

“Isn’t that what you just inferred?”

“No…I don’t think _we_ should be together. Not now, at least, but I’m not going to _leave_ you. Goodness, Blue, I love you as a friend too. I love what you’re doing here. I love that you’ve given me a chance to achieve my dreams, and that you’ve given this same chance to people all over the Commonwealth.”

Blue reached out and cradled Piper’s cheek. “I love you too, Piper. I need you to know that no matter _what_ happens in the future, I love you.”

Piper was so tempted to lean into the touch, to embrace Blue the warm way they used to. Instead, she gently removed Blue’s hand. “I know, Blue. Look…I have to get back to everyone. We’re sort of rewarding ourselves after all the hard work we’ve done, so…yeah.”

Blue gave her a hesitant, sorrowful nod. “Of course, Piper. See you.”

“See you, Blue.”

Piper returned to her table to find her radstag had cooled significantly. A box of gumdrops had appeared beside her plate. “Hey, thanks,” she said to her dinner companions.

“They’re not from us,” said Joanna.

“They’re from your _boyfriend_ ,” added Marcy quickly.

Jun sighed. “Marcy…”

Piper shook the box. Nice and full. “Uh, who’s my boyfriend now?”

Jun shook his head, declining involvement in this conversation, and gave Marcy psychic pleas with his eyes to do the same. Joanna, having spent far less time with the Longs than Piper, willfully gestured at a table in the corner, where Hancock and Deacon lounged with beers.

“Not funny,” Piper grumbled.

“They’re just teasing you, Piper,” said Jun. “They’re from all of us. This box had Nuka-Cola tie-in flavors, and we thought you’d like it.”

Piper’s eyes lit up and she turned the box over, finding the trademarked logo. She gave it a pleasing shake again and decided to rush through her radstag steak so she could move on to dessert.

As utensils descended upon the grilled meat, Travis’ smooth, confident voice pricked her ears.

_“And so, I’ve decided to start a drive here at Diamond City Radio. Your donations will not only help to keep my belly from rumbling, but help me maintain equipment and purchase the rights to original tracks from local artists like fan-favorite Magnolia. Businesses who give to Diamond City Radio will earn a promotional spot between blocks of songs. And, most importantly, I’ll dedicate a song to you by name on the air if you donate over the next week. You can send donations…”_

“Jun!” Piper caused the man beside her to jump. “ _Jun_ , did you _hear_ that?”

“What Travis said? We don’t have any extra caps to pay for advertising, but maybe we _could_ see about reducing the print costs of our next—”

“No, Jun. Travis needs _payment_. He needs an _investor_ , a _manager_ , someone to _pay him_ for his work. And goodness knows he could use a proper news block with well-researched facts on a platform as powerful and as far-reaching as his.”

Jun’s eyes sparkled. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

Piper grinned wide. “Jun, I think we need buy the radio.”

 

End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!
> 
> I had two major inspirations for this fic: the lack of a good Piper-centric quest line, and my love of settlement building. Even in Survival Mode, I wanted some aspects of gameplay explained. The Sole Survivor owns all the shops and salvage in Minutemen settlements, so it felt a lot like a dictatorship. While writing _Land of Monsters_ , I really took to the idea that Jun Long needed something positive to give him hope again. I took all of those ideas and ran with them.
> 
> I would love some feedback on this work. I write and publish fics to improve my creative writing skills, so knowing if readers are enjoying the work or the plot or whatever really helps. Thank you so much! I hope to hear from you.


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